Gamble On
by madsthenerdygirl
Summary: It's like a high-stakes poker tournament—you take down one opponent and another one's already waiting to play next round.
1. Limbo

**Title: Gamble On**

**Rating: Five bucks if you guess correctly.**

**Summary: It's like a high-stakes poker tournament—you take down one opponent and another one's already waiting to play next round.**

**Disclaimer: *gnashes teeth***

**Dedication: ****This entire story is dedicated to my roommates, who have to put up with my Supernatural fangirl rants, to lastknownwriter, for more reasons than I can say, and to anyone who shares my frustrations with seasons eight onwards.**

**Author's Note: This is an alternate version of seasons eight through ten. Extremely long story short, I was upset with a good half of the writing in season eight, and starting season nine hated pretty much everything. (If you're curious as to why, feel free to send me a private message.) I decided to rewrite things, because what else is fan fiction for, and this epic story was born.**

* * *

**Chapter Title: Limbo**

**Chapter Summary: ****Dean and Castiel are stuck in Purgatory (literally and emotionally) while Sam tries to move on with his life.**

* * *

_They warned him about it._

_The rumors had been swirling for weeks, growing worse as time had gone on._

_He has no mercy, they said._

_Stay away, they said._

_You see him you run, they said._

_He should have listened._

_He didn't believe the rumors. He'd thought that they'd been exaggerated—for what could be worse than the monsters that already roam this land?_

_But now as he writhes against the touch of steel, he knows. The rumors weren't exaggerated; if anything, they underestimated the full scope of the madness they're stuck with. He can feel whatever life is left in him slipping away, drained from him with the warm, slippery blood and torn sinews of flesh._

_And still that voice echoes in his head, raw with pain and anger:_

"_Where's the angel?"_

"_Where's the angel?"_

"_Where._

"_Is._

"_The._

"_Angel!"_

* * *

After a few days in Purgatory, the landscape began to blur. The thin trees with their rough gray-brown bark all started to look the same. Each bend in the shallow, muddy river that snaked through the land looked the same as the other. The sky, when it could be seen, was the same monotone gray no matter where you looked.

After a few weeks in Purgatory, everything was blurred; a shapeless world with the color and soul sucked out of it. There were no trees, no rivers, and no sky. Everything was just another obstacle, something to be overcome in the relentless quest. Sleep and waking were the same, filled with shadows and dark, formless _things_ that dotted the monotone landscape. Only one thought drove him on and kept him fighting.

He had to find his angel.

Dean Winchester had been separated from Castiel upon entering Purgatory, and when Dean Winchester was forcibly separated from someone he lo– cared about, then not even Hell stood in his way.

He'd figured out pretty quickly that just running around shouting for Cas was going to get him jack shit, so he'd turned to asking the local inhabitants for advice.

By 'asking', he meant driving hard steel into tender flesh until they screamed out answers.

Days upon days of interrogations, each of them more numbing than the last. He'd become a monster just like them, pulling out all of those little tricks Alistair had so lovingly taught him. He'd become what he'd always hated, what he'd loathed, so that he could get to Cas again. So that he could save him.

Weeks into it, he'd managed to get the information he'd wanted from a rugaru. It had taken hours but finally…

"There's a stream… in a clearing not far from here… you'll find your angel there…"

He actually believed the mutt, which was saying something; the second he'd finished shoving his blade through the thing's chin, he took off running.

"Dean!" Benny drawled after him. "Aw, hell…"

His feet pounded against the earth, finally feeling like he was actually touching solid ground. Concrete information at last, a location, something he could latch onto.

_There's a stream in a clearing not far from here._

_You'll find your angel there._

_You'll find Cas there._

_Cas is there._

_Cas._

_Cas._

_Cas._

* * *

The Leviathan fallout was hectic, to say the least.

If the collapse of a major conglomerate wasn't enough, there was the sudden shift in everyone's psyche as they stopped eating the 'enhanced' food, the death and disappearance of several celebrities (sorry, Gwyneth Paltrow), and the fact that the person believed responsible for blowing up the headquarters was a wanted criminal who had supposedly died three times already.

Of course, Sam Winchester's return from the dead didn't faze the FBI, who needed someone to blame and found him the perfect patsy. Kevin was safely tucked away with Garth, Meg and Crowley had both vanished, and Dean and Cas… Sam had no idea what had happened to them.

So he went on the run.

He ate up road in the Impala until the horizon blurred. He didn't hunt, and he didn't stay in any place for long. He moved through the back roads and the forgotten highways. Hell, he was so off the grid he found Frank.

He didn't look for Dean.

He didn't know what he was doing or where he was going. Since Stanford and Jess, his life had been defined by whatever bad guy they had to gank. Azazel, Lilith, Lucifer, Dick… now, there was nothing and no one. The passenger seat was empty. What was he supposed to do now? The road held no answers, but he didn't want to stop, either.

And then he ran over a dog just outside of Kermit, Texas.

Of all the things Sam Winchester had done over the years, hitting that poor mutt had to be one of his top ten worst moments. He tore up asphalt like the ground was disappearing underneath his tires, half certain that Dean would come back from the grave (or wherever the hell he was) to yell at him for mistreating his baby.

The vet, Amelia Richardson, wasn't exactly the most accommodating of women, but she had a way with animals. She stitched up the dog, commenting that based on his general state of care, he probably didn't have any owners. He'd also sustained some serious internal bleeding and at least two leg fractures.

She wasn't all that subtle, but Sam could take a hint. He took the dog to the nearest motel, bought a room (single bed for the first time in years), and settled in. The place needed a repairman and the dog wasn't cheap, so he figured he might as well hang around a little.

He still didn't hunt, and he still didn't look for Dean.

It was like living in a kind of limbo. He wasn't hunting, but he wasn't building a new life, either. It wasn't the family business and it wasn't Stanford. It was something in between, something between dreaming and waking, and he didn't know which way he was supposed to go or even what his options were.

He didn't even know what to call the damn dog.

* * *

Benny was helpful.

He'd propositioned Dean, offering him a way out in exchange for giving Benny a piggyback ride back to the surface. Dean knew it was probably stupid to take a chance, but he was all on his own in the trenches and he needed all the help that he could get.

Cas still wasn't answering his prayers.

"How'd you find me?" Dean asked, yanking the machete out from a dead vamp. Actually finding that weapon had been an adventure in itself. He'd had to get it off of an attacking rakshasa while being weaponless, which hadn't been fun, to put it lightly.

Benny surveyed the carnage around him with a kind of laid-back air that Dean found equally admirable and disturbing. "You're not all that hard to track, brother. You're the only human in this place. If the stench of your blood weren't enough, the bodies you leave in your wake are kind of a giveaway."

A few days ago he might not have been able to tell, but after fighting by the vampire's side enough times, Dean recognized that statement as a joke—albeit an on-the-nose one.

"All right, wise guy," He replied, cleaning off the blade.

"We really have to find this angel?"

Dean leveled his gaze at the vampire. "I'm not leaving here without him."

Benny rolled his eyes. "You got it bad, brother."

Dean flipped him off as he stalked away.

* * *

"What the hell?"

Sam banged his head on the sink as he tried to stand, the pain making stars dance briefly in front of his eyes. He rubbed the sore spot as he stood up, holding in a curse. He blinked, both in confusion and dread, when he saw who had startled him.

Dr. Amelia Richardson, clad in a shirt and jeans, was standing with her arms folded and one hip cocked. She didn't look pleased, to say the least.

"What are you doing in my room? Are you stalking me?"

Sam felt himself frown before he could stop himself, and gestured at the sink. "I'm fixing your sink—the manager said it was clogged with," He turned and held up one of the culprits, "These."

In his hand he held a mutilated lime.

Amelia huffed. "What? A girl can't have a drink sometimes?"

There was a difference between having a drink sometimes and having so many drinks that you clogged your sink up with limes, but Sam kept quiet. Dean had always had a bit of a liquor problem but his intake had definitely increased to the point of alcoholism when they'd lost Cas. Dean had started to deal with it during the _shojo_ business, and definitely once Cas was back, but he hadn't ever liked it when Sam had tried to bring it up. If his own brother had gotten snippy with him, he doubted that the woman in front of him would appreciate a stranger passing judgment on her actions.

"Of course not," Sam said, setting the lime down.

"So, what, you fix sinks for charity?"

"I'm the maintenance guy," Sam explained.

"Right," Amelia replied. He was pretty sure he was sensing sarcasm in that tone.

The pause that followed was painfully awkward, even by his standards. And Sam Winchester had experienced some pretty awkward moments in his life. Like when Dean had explained the birds and the bees when Sam was twelve, for example. Or any time Dean and Cas had a conversation.

"Well?"

Sam frowned. "Well, what?"

"Are you going to head out, or just keep standing here in my room like a creep?"

Okay, then.

"Let me know if it backs up again," He said as he grabbed his toolkit.

Amelia didn't reply. She just closed the door behind him on his way out.

Theoretically that meeting could have gone a lot worse, but he didn't exactly see how.

* * *

At first Dean didn't see him. The trench coat was worn and covered in dirt, as was the person wearing it, and he was crouched into such a tight ball that at first he looked like another monochromatic stone. But the second he realized what—or who—it was he felt something light and weightless flood his chest.

"Cas!"

The angel stood just in time for Dean to wrap him up in a hug. He didn't even know how he got from where he was to Cas's side. It didn't even matter. Cas felt warm and solid and real, the first and only tangible thing in this entire godforsaken mud pit. He hugged him as tightly as he dared—not the one arm high one arm low bro-hug, either, but the kind where if Cas was going to hug back, he'd have no choice but to put his arms around Dean's waist.

"Missed you," He admitted, pulling away, trying to ignore the fact that Cas hadn't hugged him back. He reached up and ran his finger over the scraggly beard Cas had going on. "Nice scruff."

Cas just kept standing there. The guy had always done an unnervingly good job of imitating a statue but this was different. It was like he was uncomfortable. Like he didn't want Dean there.

"You got some nerve."

Benny was striding over, looking none-too-pleased with Cas. Dean had honestly forgotten that Benny was even there and, judging by Cas's expression, the angel hadn't even noticed the vampire.

"This boy's been looking for you this whole time after you ran away from him," Benn went on. "What kinda coward—"

"Benny." The word came out a little more harshly than Dean had intended, but the guy needed to know his place. Nobody called Cas names and got away with it, not even someone who'd had Dean's back the past few weeks. "I'm sure there's an explanation for this. Some guys probably jumped Cas, he fought back, and we got separated. Things happen, right?"

He looked over at Cas, feeling a grin overtake him. It was just so fucking good to see him again.

"Actually," Cas's voice was just as he remembered, low and scratchy and right out of a sex phone line. "Your friend here is right."

Wait, what?

"Excuse me?"

"When we landed in Purgatory, I ran," Cas said, seemingly oblivious to how his words stabbed at Dean's insides.

"What in the hell for?"

"They were after me." Cas looked exasperated, which hold the phone was just not fucking fair. "I'm an angel, Dean. Every single monster out here wants a piece of me and if that weren't enough the Leviathan are here, too. I couldn't let them get you, too, so I stayed away. I stayed away so that you would be safe."

The lightness in his chest was gone, replaced with bubbling anger. "I prayed to you, Cas! Every night! I begged you to find me, that we could work things out!"

Benny's eyes shifted off to the side, and Dean knew that the vampire must have heard some of those prayers. They'd been pretty damn private, but Dean was a little busy at the moment. He'd deal with any embarrassment later.

"It's not safe, Dean!" Cas replied. He didn't raise his voice but he might as well have been doing the shattering-windows thing for all of the power behind the words. "They could be coming even now—"

"I don't give a damn, Cas—"

"You have to get out before—"

"No!"

Benny's eyebrows rose. Dean realized, belatedly, that he was shouting.

"It's not you or me, Cas. It's you _and_ me. I'm not doing this without you, you stupid son of a bitch, and you'd better just get used to it."

Cas opened his mouth, but snapped it shut. "They're coming."

Dean and Benny both drew their weapons, senses on high alert.

"We're finishing this conversation," Dean informed Cas.

If looks could smite, the one Cas was giving him would have reduced Dean to a pile of ash.

* * *

The dog (who still didn't have a name) was getting a lot better at walking. At first it had only been a few painful little steps before he wobbled and went down like a drunk on a Friday night. Sam had crouched, arms outstretched, ready to catch the guy whenever he went tumbling. He had briefly wondered if this was similar to raising a kid, but had quickly shoved such thoughts back into the dusty dark corner of his mind, back where things like Jess and a law degree and missing Dean were.

About a week after those first few tenuous movements, the dog had been able to make it from one side of the motel room to the other. His walk was slow and laborious, but he could do it. From there it was simply a matter of pacing. By the time a month was up, the dog could scamper from one side to the other, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth and making happy little yippy noises. He was even able to paw at Sam's pant leg while looking up at him with those soft, dark eyes.

Sam wasn't fully confident that the dog was ready to take on the outside world, however, and decided that he'd best take the guy back to the vet to have him checked out. Hopefully someone other than Dr. Richardson would be there. But when Sam opened the door…

"No!"

The dog took off like one of those mentos dropped into a soda bottle, tearing across the grassy area. Sam was fast—he still jogged every morning, dammit—but two legs, no matter how long, couldn't compete with four plus mischievous tenacity.

"Dog!" Sam shouted. "Come back!"

Maybe he should have given more thought to naming the mutt. At least then he wouldn't sound like such a massive idiot.

"Dog!"

The dog curbed to the right and at first Sam thought hey, maybe the guy was listening after all. No such luck. The dog bounded up the steps and ran right into…

Shit.

"No! No, dog, don't bother the… mean lady…"

Shit shit shit shit _shit_.

Sam jumped up the steps just in time to see the dog crawl happily up onto the sofa and plop his head down on Amelia Richardson's lap with a contended doggy sigh. To Sam's surprise, the vet didn't even bat an eyelash, merely stroking the dog's long fur and scratching behind his ears.

Okay, so maybe she didn't get along all that well with people, but she definitely had a way with animals.

"Sorry about that," Sam apologized. "He got away from me."

"He's healed very quickly," Amelia replied, still looking at the dog. "Did you give your owner a scare, huh? Cause a big ol' ruckus?"

It took Sam a beat to realize she was talking to the dog.

"He's got a lot of energy," He explained. "He's been kind of cooped up while his legs were healing."

"He should get lots of exercise now," Amelia said, finally looking up at him. "Working those legs will help them continue to heal."

"Sure thing." Sam nodded.

Amelia kept staring at him. Quick—what to say before the moment turned awkward?

"Great stitches, by the way. You really patched him up."

"Oh?" Amelia scratched the dog behind the ears again and the dog stretched out, a rumbling sound working its way through his chest.

"It's just I've seen a lot of stitches and the ones you did were, I mean—they were the best I've ever seen."

Now, Sam was pretty damn proud of his own stitching abilities and Dean was—or had been—one of the fastest he knew, with Ellen taking the cake for neatness. If the vet could beat out three seasoned hunters then, well, that was saying something.

"You've seen a lot of stitches in your time?" Amelia said. It was only then that Sam realized just how his sentence had sounded. "You know, you're not doing much to help the creep factor."

"Sorry?"

Amelia—wait, was that a smile? "It doesn't help that you dress like a white supremacist or a drifting serial killer."

Sam looked down at his outfit. "What's wrong with layers?"

Amelia pointed at him. "Do you own anything that's not some form of plaid?"

Sam shrugged.

"The hair isn't exactly helping, either. Heard of scissors?"

Sam felt his mouth twist up and knew he was pulling what Dean had called a 'bitchface'. To his surprise, Amelia chuckled.

"You know, you scream 'loner' too," Sam pointed out.

Amelia went back to scratching the dog's ears. "Was it the drinking or the crankiness that gave it away?"

Her frankness surprised him, but he went with it. "Both, I guess."

"What's his name?"

Sam glanced down at the dog. "He doesn't have one yet."

Amelia snorted. "You've had him for over a month."

Sam shrugged, feeling sheepish.

Amelia looked down at the dog, her fingers combing gently through his fur. "How about Riot?"

"Riot?" It didn't sound too bad. In fact, it fit the little mongrel pretty well. "Works for me."

Amelia grinned down at the dog—at Riot. "You hear that, boy? You've got a name!"

Riot made a happy snuffling noise.

* * *

To say that watching Benny save Cas was a surprise would be the understatement of the century.

At first Dean thought Benny had done it because, well, it wasn't like Dean had done a very good job of hiding how important Cas was. Benny had heard his prayers, after all. He knew how he'd begged Cas to come back to him. But then Cas and Benny had done that hand-grasping thing and Dean knew—Benny agreed with Cas. Both of them thought that Cas wouldn't be able to get through the portal.

Okay, so Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't glad the two of them were getting along. They were similar in some ways—hell it was probably part of what had drawn him towards Benny in the first place. But that did not mean he appreciated his friend and—whatever Cas was—ganging up on him. They were shoving Cas's ass through that needle if it killed all through of them, and he told Benny so.

"Whatever you say, brother," Benny drawled.

So yeah, it was nice to not have the two of them holding their passive-aggressive posturing contests anymore. But neither Cas nor Benny nor both of them together were changing his mind on this.

They were getting Cas out. He didn't even care how.

* * *

"I should probably apologize."

They were halfway through their fifth campy '70s horror flick, two empty bowls of popcorn on the floor and Riot curled up happily at their feet. Sam had pointed out inaccuracies based on what he knew from hunting, and Amelia had made general derisive comments based on her knowledge of anatomy. He still wasn't entirely sure how they'd started this, but it had turned into a surprisingly fun evening.

He turned and looked over at her. Amelia's face, usually all angles and lines, seemed softened by the glow from the television. "What are you apologizing for?"

Amelia shrugged. "Being rude, and generally just… I mean, it's not easy. Talking to people. Y'know?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah."

"I just—I wanted to shut the world out and have everyone leave me alone." Amelia raised and lowered her shoulder in a kind of slow-motion shrug. "I still stand by that, but I could've been a little bit nicer. You were just fixing the sink."

Sam felt the chuckle rumble up in his chest before it burst out of him. "I was being kind of creepy, even if it was accidental."

Amelia's smile split her face. Sam found that he liked it. "Apology accepted."

* * *

Dean stirred, the last tendrils of sleep ripped away as he raised his head. It was night—or whatever passed for night in Purgatory—and he'd been catching forty winks when he'd felt it again.

There was something out there.

"Cas?" He whispered.

"I'm right here, Dean."

The angel was lying on his back, staring up at the blank, featureless sky. Dean sat up, blade in hand. "Did you hear that?"

Cas nodded. "It's not Leviathan."

"Sons of bitches would have jumped us by now." Dean scanned the surrounding area but saw nothing other than trees. "Whatever it is, it's been following us ever since we joined with you."

"Yet another reason for you not to be here," Cas argued. "It's not getting close enough to let me sense what it is, but it can't possibly be safe."

"For the last time, Cas, I ain't leaving you behind. Not again. Not ever."

"Dean…"

He knew that Cas was millennia old—had used that fact to stop himself from thinking, well—but Cas had never looked it. He fit into his vessel so perfectly in a way that no other angel did, like he truly belonged in that form, wearing that skin. And those blue eyes of his had always shone with such life, such pure grace and beauty, that they'd seemed endlessly young.

But now…

Now he truly showed his age. The light in his eyes seemed dim and flickering, like the dying embers of a strange blue fire. His skin was worn and haggard, and his clothes hung off of his frame like sackcloth.

"If you die here," Cas said, his voice worn thin, "You can't go to Heaven. You'll be trapped here."

"Cas…"

"Who knows how long until your humanity is stripped away?" Cas wondered. "You'll become a monster eventually, Dean, it's the way of this place. The monsters must die, again and again, until their penance has been paid and they have suffered for what they have done to humanity. My Father created this place to be pure, where monsters could become human and eventually make it to Heaven. But humans aren't the same. You're still alive. The things you have to do to survive here…"

Dean ached to reach out and touch him, but he didn't know how that would be received. Cas's refusal to return the hug still stung, and he wasn't sure he could take more disappointment.

"We're gonna get out of here, Cas. All three of us." Cas was more of a priority than Benny, but Dean Winchester never backed down from a promise.

"I hope that you're right, Dean," Cas said, turning to look at him. Dean swallowed hard, caught up in that laser stare. "For a man who never put much stock in God, you certainly have a lot of faith."

"I have faith in things I can trust, like people." Dean tried to grin, but it didn't feel right on his face, like a shirt that was too small. "People who've proven themselves. Friends. Family. Like you."

"Family." The word seemed bitter when it came from Cas's mouth.

"You're my family, Cas."

That wasn't it, not quite… right, but it was all Dean knew how to say. Cas seemed disappointed, and lay back down again without saying anything.

"We'll have to find out who's tracking us," He said.

"Yeah." Dean looked down at his hands, wishing he knew how they could stop running in circles around each other. "We'll take care of it, Cas, just like we always do."

* * *

The first time it was mentioned, all that Amelia had said was that she'd lost someone. He'd told her that he'd lost someone too, and they'd left it at that. The companionship of understanding had been enough.

The second time had been when he'd asked her why she was still living in the motel. She told him that she could ask him the same thing, and he'd admitted that he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with himself. She'd told him that she was staying there while she tried to figure herself out. She'd moved there, she said, from her old town because she'd hated everyone's pity.

The third time, she told him it was her husband she'd lost. He'd said it was his brother.

The fourth time, they exchanged names. Her husband's name had been Don. He shared Dean's name.

By that time their nightly movie marathons-slash-late-night-confessions had become less of an impromptu thing and more of a routine. It took him about another week to realize that these could be considered dates.

Which meant he had to tell her the truth.

The last time he'd tried to live a life outside of hunting it had come back to bite him in the ass. He couldn't count the times he'd imagined things being different if he'd just told Jess the truth. If she'd known about that, maybe he could have told her about his dreams of her death—maybe she could have defended herself somehow. She could have gone with them on the hunt for the woman in white, even. At the very least, she would have had a fighting chance. Sam still wasn't quite sure what he and Amelia were. They were tentatively friends and definitely each other's grief counselors, but he couldn't tell her about Dean without telling her everything else. And even if they never did move past friendship (ignoring the stirring in his gut that he got when he looked at her), he didn't want one more person's blood on his hands.

His stomach was in a Gordian knot before he'd even sat down. They were having dinner together. It was Friday, which meant it was Chinese takeout night. Amelia refused to cook, but he was going to have to make good on his promise to make her a proper meal at some point.

"You okay?"

Sam nodded, feeling his head jerk like a puppet on a string. Amelia said down next to him, the edges of her mouth curled downwards in a frown. Her forehead was puckered adorably.

"There's just something I want to talk to you about," He began, "And I'm not sure how to approach it."

Amelia just sat there, waiting. She could still be extremely cranky but he'd found her to be the best listener he'd ever had.

"Do you remember the whole Roman Enterprises deal a few months back?"

Amelia snorted. "Do I? That was all over the news for weeks. SucroCorp was blown sky-high. They said some psycho did it—six foot four white male, gave a description but never a picture—wait."

Sam held up his hands, feeling sheepish again. Amelia tended to make him feel that way a lot.

"You?" Her mouth was open, her eyes white and almost starting out of her head. "You blew up SucroCorp?"

"I had good reason."

"The reason being you really are some crazy white supremacist?"

"Just hear me out, okay?"

Amelia fell silent. Riot padded over to see what was up, putting his head in her lap. Traitor.

"What if I told you that those bogeymen under your bed, the vampires you read about, the ghosts you saw on film—that they were all real?"

"I'd say I'd need some proof."

He told her about the Leviathan, and then gestured at the television. "Wasn't there anything odd about what happened? Celebrities suddenly dropping dead, an entire billionaire enterprise just going belly-up for no reason, the additives in the food?"

Amelia looked down at Riot, scratching behind his ears. It was a sign that she was thinking deeply. "There were some weird things about it on the news. Stuff that didn't quite fit."

"It was because of the Leviathan."

Amelia arched her eyebrows. "And you're telling me that you and your brother would hunt these kinds of things?"

"It was our lives."

Amelia cocked her head, her gaze unexpectedly piercing. "What happened?" She asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody just wakes up and decides to hunt monsters. You got into it somehow."

Sam looked down at his hands. He remembered the feeling of power, of the blood rushing to them as he exorcised demons. These hands had held a knife before bike handles, and the pages of the books they'd turned had held Latin, not hobbits or boy wizards.

"My mom," He began, "Was killed by a demon."

It took hours—in fact it was light out by the time he finished—but he told her about the fire and Mary's death, Azazel and the "special children", Ruby and the Apocalypse, Hell—everything.

And when he was finished, drained and raw and laid out to dry like a ratty old shirt, Amelia took his hands in hers and kissed him on the cheek.

* * *

Dean had lost track of time but it felt like it was a couple of weeks after they'd found Cas that he finally snapped. Or maybe Cas snapped. He wasn't quite sure who started it and it sure didn't matter all that much when they were in the middle of screaming at each other.

Now, Dean had been in plenty of fights over the years—way more than he could count even if he tried—and he'd had more than his fair share of arguments. But he'd never been in an all-out screaming match.

Well, it looked like now was the time.

They had just dispatched some more Chompers and Cas had needlessly put himself in danger _again_ to the point where Dean was wondering if the guy had some kind of death wish, to which Cas had replied that maybe he deserved it for all that he'd done—started a civil war in Heaven, unleashed the Leviathan, brought Sam back soulless and then knocked down his mental wall, and so on. Dean had said that was fucking bullshit, Cas, and you know it, and before he knew it they were screaming in the middle of a patch of forest surrounded by dead bodies.

Benny was no fucking help at all and just leaned against a tree, hat tipped downwards to hide his face. Dean couldn't tell if the guy was listening in or taking a fucking nap.

"I'm nothing but a liability, Dean!" Cas shouted. "It's better for the both of you—better for everyone—if I just—"

"Don't you fucking dare. I am not letting you make yourself into a fucking martyr, not again. I have watched you die over and over again, Cas, and I refuse to let it happen again. I refuse to go through that, Cas, do you hear me? I am not losing you!"

"Why?" Cas demanded. "Why do you even care? Because I'm a weapon, some angelic 'mojo'," this was done with finger quotes "that you can call down to help you whenever you'd like? I am not at your beck and call, Dean Winchester."

"Oh, so we're doing this again? We're going the high-and-mighty route? I thought we were past that Cas, I thought we were friends!"

"I don't deserve—"

"Don't tell me what you do and don't deserve." Dean's voice was growing hoarse from all of the strain. "I didn't carry that damn trenchcoat around for months because you're a weapon. I didn't dream about you wading into that goddamn reservoir every night because I felt that you failed me. You messed up, Cas. So have I. I'm willing to let go of that if you are. Can't you just…"

Be there for me? Let me be there for you? Hold you? Kiss you like I've wanted to for a couple of years now?

"Can't you just trust me? Huh? Let me in?"

They stood there, breathing heavily, the tension slowly bleeding out of their shoulders. Dean felt like his chest was deflating, and he was a little lightheaded.

That was the biggest issue—the only issue—that he had with Cas. The lying. Going behind his back to deal with Crowley. The abandonment.

Cas looked at him, and for the first time since the fight had started Dean could actually see the soft, worn-denim jean blue at the edges of those eyes, the softness that he tried so damn hard to get to come out but rarely made an appearance. The angel opened his mouth to speak—

"Boys. We got company."

Motherfuckingsonofa_bitch_!

* * *

Sam got a hold of Charlie, who had come out of hiding after the Leviathan fallout, and had her send some research to him. She took the opportunity to inform him that Garth and other hunters had made short work of the remaining Leviathan.

"They're like chickens with their heads cut off now that they've lost Dick," Charlie explained.

He used the research she sent him to further his case with Amelia, who poured over the accounts with a fine-tooth comb and a lot more eagerness than he would have expected.

"This is a vampire?" She asked, holding up the picture.

"Yup."

"Awesome."

All right, then.

* * *

It was so odd, seeing Cas sleep.

Here in Purgatory a lot of the angel's powers had been drained. He couldn't zap anywhere he wanted, couldn't heal as well or as quickly. He felt hunger and pain and exhaustion. He could still smite, but in a lot of ways he was more human than Dean was. Dean didn't get hungry or tired. He slept because he felt like it (and because moving through Purgatory when it was dark was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard) but he didn't have to. Cas, however, did.

Usually Dean dropped off before Cas did, the angel finding it hard to get used to this closing eyes and resting thing, but sometimes Cas fell asleep first. During those times, Dean liked to watch him. All of the lines of his face smoothed out and his chapped lips parted slightly, making him seem so peaceful and serene. He looked fragile. Young, almost. Vulnerable.

Dean barely resisted the urge to touch.

They'd come to a kind of tenuous truce while they fought their way through the monsters but they hadn't resolved anything, either. Dean was tired of fighting, anyway. He just wanted Cas back. If he was being honest with himself—a rare occurrence but one he'd had more practice in since Cas waded into the water last year—he wanted more than having things back to the way they were. He wanted Cas in every sense of the word. He wanted to touch and worship and love. He wanted to satisfy his damn craving. He wanted to know that Cas was there, and would always be there, no matter what.

Had it really only been four years since they'd first met? It felt like ages. The depleted angel lying a few feet away wasn't the same heavenly being that had yanked him out of Hell, or the rebel leader in a battle for control of Heaven, or the lost man believing himself human. Each of those things felt like an aspect of Castiel, something he was trying on that didn't quite fit. But through all of those were threads of the real Castiel—the rebellious angel, the reluctant leader, the man wanting to heal and do good. Cas had always wanted to do good, to help others. He'd always wanted freedom and joy for humanity. He'd always been willing to sacrifice for others.

He was beautiful, Dean realized. Physically, sure, and smoking hot to boot but inside as well. He was like a nebula, a cluster of stars swirling in the unending deepness of space, a pinprick of hope and light.

"I'm so gone on you," He whispered, safe in the knowledge that Cas couldn't hear him. "Do you have any idea?"

"He might not, but I will if you don't stop mooning over him," Benny drawled from his spot about ten feet from Dean's other side.

"Fuck off," Dean said wearily.

Benny muttered something in French but turned on his side obligingly.

Dean continued to watch Cas sleep, wondering how the hell he was supposed to fix things between them.

* * *

It was a couple of weeks later that they made love for the first time.

They had known each other for four months by then. Four months of slowly building their relationship, of movie marathons complete with drinking games and lunches at the park and poker tournaments between the two of them while Riot napped at their feet. Four months since Dean and Cas had vanished, most likely died.

Sam hoped that, wherever they were, they were together. They might have been idiots about it but no two people deserved each other—or needed each other—more than Dean and his angel.

Being with Amelia was different than before. Of course every girl he'd been with—and there weren't too many—was different. Jess was sweet and eager and sometimes a little giggly, drunk of joy and love and always willing to try new things. Madison was slow and sensuous and deep. Ruby was dominant and outright sexy and just on this side of wrong. Cara was… okay, he still felt bad about that, but she was wild and daring and took what she wanted. But Amelia was like eating bittersweet chocolate. It was tinged with loss and sadness but good, so good, and what was more he trusted her. He hadn't trusted someone like that since Ruby and that one was a rollercoaster he didn't dare compare to anything else. He and Amelia were friends first, lovers second, and it deepened things.

It helped that she was surprisingly athletic. Hot damn.

Afterwards when they were lying there with her curled up in his arms, she told him about Don.

"I thought I knew what I wanted," She admitted. "He was so commanding and in control. I thought it was attractive. And it helped me get away from my dad."

Sam stayed silent, trailing his fingers through her damp hair.

"After a couple of years, though, I knew… people couldn't tell. They thought we were the perfect couple. But I couldn't go to the fucking grocery store without his say-so. We never had real conversations anymore. You can bet he never told me anything.

"When he went and signed up for Iraq without telling me—I felt terrible but also so relieved. At least then he'd be far away. What kind of man goes off to war without discussing it with his wife first, anyway?"

She drew her lip between her teeth, and her grip on his shoulder tightened infinitesimally.

"I was glad when I got the call."

MIA, presumed dead. He hadn't realized just how many soldiers went missing, their bodies never found.

"I didn't want sympathy. Nobody knew, nobody understood, and even if I'd cared their empty words and—just seeing their faces made me nauseous. And I didn't have any real friends. They were all Don's friends from work and their wives or his drinking buddies or—nobody was there for _me_. It was about him, always about him. I just had to get out."

Sam knew all about that. What else had Stanford been?

"I didn't plan on making friends, least of all—but you just stumbled in. You had Dean and I had Don and we were both cranky and scarred and you didn't flinch when I cursed you out and… you snuck in." She grinned up at him, her teeth glowing a little in the moonlight. "It's fucking annoying."

He laughed, hugging her a little tighter.

"But you're a little happier now, right?" He asked.

Amelia snuggled up to him. "I'm a lot happier."

They lay there, content, two broken souls finding a way to mend together.

"Don't think this has gotten you out of a haircut, though. Tomorrow morning we are cutting that mop."

* * *

Three days. Or whatever counts for days here. Three cycles of tracking down the portal and sleeping through the periodic periods of darkness. And Dean still hadn't found a way to apologize to Cas.

Lucky bastard that he was (or maybe Cas is just the braver one), Cas decided to apologize first.

The fact that they're fighting Chompers at the time—well, that's Cas's sense of timing for you.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" _Jesus_ his arm was getting sore. He was way too old for this shit.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. For lying to you. For not trusting you, and unleashing the Levithan although I assure you that was an accident. For dying. For Sam. For—"

"_Mon Dieu_, you two have bad timing."

"Shut it, Benny," Dean growled. He was not about to let this moment slip by, not when Cas was opening up to him.

"For what it's worth, Cas, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't've… well, I'm not going down the list but you know. All of it."

Finally. Last chomper ganked.

They stood there, staring at each other in a way very reminiscent of the end of their argument a few days ago.

"Anyone want to help a brother with this?"

God _damn_ it Benny!

They might have apologized to each other but it wasn't until later that night that things really—well, picked up wasn't the right word, but—hell with it.

Cas was lying down, staring up at the black void that served as the sky, his face blank. Dean wondered what he was thinking.

"You're gonna let me drag your ass through that portal, right?"

Cas nodded.

"And will you," Please, voice, don't break now, "Stay once I've had my turn to raise you from perdition?"

Cas actually got the joke for once and snorted. "Yes, Dean. I'll stay with you."

"Good."

He felt like he could actually breathe again, for the first time since entering this place.

"But, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Cas sat up, his head cocked and face adorably puzzled. "Why do you need me, if not as a weapon?"

Oh, shit.

"Well, we're family, Cas. We look after each other because we care, not because we're—that is, we need you for you."

"We?"

"Sam and me."

Cas frowned. "What about just you, Dean?" He asked. "Why do you need me?"

_Because you just might be the fucking love of my life, you idiot._

"You're… you."

Smooth, Winchester. Real smooth.

"I'm me?"

Okay, wait, when had Cas sat up?

"What exactly do you mean when you say you need me, Dean Winchester?"

And for that matter when had they gotten so close?

"How else do you want me to say it, Cas?"

Cas's lips were warm and surprisingly soft against his, and for a split second he froze in shock. This—this was actually happening.

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester looked a gift horse in the mouth. There were so many times they'd almost lost each other, so many missed opportunities and wasted chances and fuck, they were in Purgatory. It's not like he cared who saw them.

He kissed back, moving his lips against the angel's and running his tongue along the seam of his lips. Cas opened his mouth with a tiny little moan, like he'd been waiting for this, and Dean wasted no time in deepening the kiss. Neither of them smelled all that good, coated in dirt and blood—and Cas was getting a shave the second they got topside—but it was still unbelievably good. Cas kissed like it was the last chance they'd ever get, like if he didn't do it now he never would, and Dean whipped out just about every trick in the book to show Cas how good a kiss could be.

When they broke apart to breathe—or, rather, so that Dean could breathe—he realized that they'd shift so that Dean while kneeling while Cas straddled his legs, practically in his lap. Cas brushed their noses together and Dean found himself smiling.

* * *

Riot ended up picking the house for them.

They'd been looking at a few different places—nothing too big or expensive, but something they could grow into. They needed a big yard and neighborhood for Riot, of course. Amelia wanted a nice bedroom and lots of windows to let the light in, and Sam wanted space for a library and an up-to-date kitchen for cooking. Neither of them really new anyone yet besides the motel owners and Amelia's coworkers at the veterinary clinic, so they didn't feel the need for a large entertaining space or spare bedrooms. Despite the small list of necessary elements, however, they were having trouble picking a place.

They were out on a walk with Riot, hand in hand—something Sam had come to love just for the simple contact and affection—when Riot suddenly broke away. The leash slipped through Sam's fingers and the dog bounded down the street, barking madly. They both took after him, sprinting down the street until they caught up with him at an open house. Riot was sitting there, soaking up the attention from several women who were petting him and cooing over his "gorgeous coat" and "adorable eyes".

Amelia, the traitor, had left Sam to fend for himself while the ladies swarmed around him. He'd finally gotten his hair cut and sideburns shaved, and apparently a handsome guy with a dog was just too irresistible a combination. By the time he extracted himself from the flirtatious crowd, Amelia had spoken to the realtor and gotten the information they needed.

The look on the women's faces when Amelia swooped in and planted one on him was priceless. Sam had grinned like an idiot for the rest of the walk back.

But the best part was that they were moved in within a week.

* * *

Four years of refusing to define their relationship, ignoring the spark of heat in their guts, and keeping the other in the dark 'for their own good' did not just go away in one kiss, no matter how damn good that kiss was. Dean spent the better part of the next week or so saying 'I'm sorry for…' more than anything else.

If Benny had been difficult before, he was practically insufferable now, cracking jokes and sending Dean sly looks. The fucker was just too damn cheerful about the whole situation.

Besides the slow, methodical stripping of armor and past wounds, there were the Leviathan to contend with. They were close to the portal—at least according to Benny—but it seemed like the closer they got, the more Chompers they had to fight.

And then there was that continual tug at the back of his skull. He never saw or heard them, but by now all three of them could sense it. Something was following them. It wasn't a monster—that much Benny could tell them. It certainly wasn't human. It never got close enough for Cas to sense what it was, but somehow he could always tell when it (or they) was there before he or Benny so it might have been an angel or demon. It was definitely unsettling.

"I think they're driving us towards something," Cas noted. Dean was lying with his back against a tree, Cas between his splayed legs with his back to Dean's chest. Benny was on the opposite side of the dying fire—Cas could feel temperatures here as well, unlike Dean and Benny. Apparently everything, even the weather, was designed to kill an angel.

Dean buried his nose into the crook of Cas's neck. He couldn't wait to get back topside and shove them both into a nice hot shower. He bet Cas would smell even better when he was properly clean.

"We're headed for the portal," He objected, keeping his voice low. The question of Benny's sleeping habits was still up for debate, but they had all been dead on their feet that day. Couldn't hurt to let the guy get some sleep.

"Yes," Cas said, doing that thing were he savored each word and turned it over on his tongue like a pebble before sending it out into the air, "But the closer we get to it the more Leviathan there are. And they're coming from strategic directions, driving us just a little bit this way or that way."

"Say they are driving us somewhere. What? We killed the big Dick, who's left?"

"I don't know. But I'm a soldier, Dean. This is guerilla warfare strategy. Draw the enemy into smaller fights, lead them to where you want them to go, let them think they're in control."

Dean considered that. Cas had fought countless battles in Heaven, both when Lucifer fell and during the Apocalypse-that-wasn't and the fallout from that. It wasn't like Dean forgot, exactly. It was just that it was easy to forget exactly what the implications of all of that were.

"We'll be on our toes, Cas," He promised. "We're getting close."

"Yes, but to what?"

Dean pressed his mouth to Cas's temple, wishing that he knew.

But hey, at least he could hold Cas now. At least he could bestow feather-light kisses to his angel's face as they fell asleep, his last conscious sensation the feel of Cas's fingers intertwining with his.

For Cas, anything was worth it.

* * *

Meeting Stan Thompson was something Sam could have very happily done without. He should have been suspicious when Amelia was uncharacteristically nervous, giving him last-minute instructions and running around fluffing pillows. Sam saw no reason to be worried. Their house was nice, not to mention clean, and they'd picked out every piece of furniture themselves. Riot had been exercised until he could barely move before being carted off to the groomer's, so he was good to go. And maybe Sam wasn't a hotshot lawyer the way he wanted to be, but he had a solid job in construction and Amelia was happy at the clinic. There was literally nothing to be concerned about.

And then Stan had actually arrived.

It was clear from the get-go that the guy didn't like him. Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Nothing Sam said or did seemed to make things better.

The worst part was Amelia. She had the most expressive face of anyone Sam had ever seen (with Dean holding second place), but now she was pale and still, her mouth a thin line. She kept her eyes on her plate, only raising them in quick, darting glances when she had to look at them. Sam shifted his feet, running one of them up her leg to try and sooth her. Amelia pressed back into his foot, but he saw her fingers—those steady surgeon fingers, the ones that had managed to sew up Riot even when she was half drunk—trembling as she gripped the fork.

Sam stood, interrupting Stan's lecture on why Amelia needed to move back home. "I'll clear the plates," He announced, scooping up the dishes and hurrying into the kitchen. He needed to think on how to save this situation.

He sifted through previous conversations with Amelia, trying to glean what information she could. She'd rarely, if ever, talked about her life growing up. He knew her mother had died when she was three and she was an only child, but most of his knowledge of her came from her time in veterinary school and after Don. But although he didn't know much of her history, he knew _her_. And something was very, very wrong.

Sam had a sudden image of Dean. Dean growing up, hiding bruises. Dean going hungry so Sam didn't have to. Dean vanishing for hours only to show up at four in the morning, wads of cash held tight in his white-knuckled hand. Dean trying so desperately to earn John's approval, standing up for John even when he was the one getting the abuse. John hadn't hit his boys often—he could count the times he'd hit Dean on one hand and he'd certainly never hit Sam—but he'd been abusive in other ways. He'd raised Dean to be a soldier first, a parent to Sam second, and a man third, with no room for just being _Dean_.

And now Sam was seeing those same symptoms in Amelia.

He'd stood by for years, knowing that his father and brother had an unhealthy relationship and never saying anything. He'd been too busy fighting his own battles with John and Dean always refused help, so he'd shoved it into the back of his mind. But now…

Well, he'd be damned (again) if he'd just sit by and let the woman he loved take treatment like that.

Just as he reached the doorway to the dining room, he heard Amelia speak.

"I know he's a little messed up. So am I. We've both been through things. But you know what? He makes me happy. We make each other happy, which is more than I can say for Don or you. I can be myself, scars and all, and so can he. We help make each other better. I'm an adult and you can't control me anymore, so if you can't accept that I'm happy—"

Sam crossed the room to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She was horribly tense, but he felt her relax a little once he touched her. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Amelia was being amazing all on her own, and his stance behind her—supporting her—said everything without uttering a single word.

Stan was looking at his daughter as if he'd never seen her before. He raised his eyes up to look at Sam, who steadily met his gaze.

"All right then," Stan said, quietly.

He left soon after that.

Sam held her for a long time that night, his brave and beautifully broken woman, and told her so in every way he could think of.

* * *

"This is it."

Dean stood there, looking around. "This is what?"

Benny rolled his eyes. "The portal, brother. It's here."

"You sure about that?" Dean didn't see anything.

"I was told this was where it was."

Benny had gone through too much with them for Dean to doubt him. He'd stuck with Dean even when Dean was closer to Roger Rabbit levels of loopy than actual sanity, he'd defended and protected Cas, and he had kept his lovebird jokes to a minimum. Dean trusted him, and he didn't think Benny would betray them. Not now.

"Maybe the guy who told you about it lied to you?"

Benny chuckled at that. "People don't lie to me. I lie to them."

"Perhaps there is an incantation or spell that we must use to activate it?" Cas asked, gazing around him.

Dean stepped out from the shelter of the trees and into the watery light. "Well I don't—"

The sky opened up before them and Dean saw what looked like an upside-down whirlpool of gray and blue. It was almost as blue as Cas's eyes, and there was something like looked almost like lightning flashing in its depths.

"I think it sensed you, brother," Benny said.

Now that the portal was open, that meant they didn't have a lot of time. "You ready?" He asked.

Benny cocked an eyebrow. "You're putting a lot of trust in me, brother."

"You deserve it."

Dean carefully ran the blade through his skin, years of practice helping him to make a cut that was deep without being life threatening. He muttered the words Cas had taught him, wincing as he watched—and felt—Benny's soul be sucked into the cut, sealing itself after him.

"How do you feel?" Cas asked.

Dean looked down at his arm. He'd expected to feel something—wooziness, or the sensation of being weighed down, or even Benny's thoughts or emotions. But instead he felt…

"Nothing."

Cas nodded. "Good. We should get going."

They turned to head up the hillside to the portal when two black lumps of goo careened down from nowhere, landing in front of them and taking on the form of humans. Leviathan.

Dean drew his blade, ready to rumble, when he felt Cas's hand on his arm. He turned to ask Cas what was going on, but when he rotated his head he saw what the angel was stopping him for.

They were absolutely surrounded by Leviathan.

* * *

"Do you ever want kids?"

Sam blinked and wiped the sleep from his eyes. They were lying on the grass after his surprise birthday picnic, and he'd been napping for at least half an hour, his head on Amelia's lap while she ran her fingers through his hair.

He thought about it. He'd always wanted to be a father—had even discussed it with Jess—but it had been a far-off thing, something to come after his law career had taken off and he'd been married for a couple of years. And then Jess had died and the Apocalypse had come along and all thoughts of an apple-pie life had been swept away.

But now…

He pictured a child, one with big brown eyes and his nose, but with dark curly hair and Amelia's wide, face-splitting smile.

"Yes." He grinned up at her. "Yes, I want kids."

"How many?"

"Let's say we start with two."

The thing about Amelia was that she never cried when she was sad or angry. She cried only when she was happy, the ferocity of the tears fluctuating depending on the intensity of the joy.

That moment, Amelia burst into the biggest torrent of tears that Sam had ever seen, but she was laughing the entire time. He sat up and hugged her tightly, and shed a few happy tears of his own.

* * *

"Any way we can fight them?" Dean muttered.

He felt Cas shake his head ever so slightly.

There were dozens of Leviathan on every side of them, standing in black suits and sunglasses. That was the really odd thing about this. None of them were moving. Usually the Chompers just went right for the kill, but these were just standing around. It was almost as if they were standing guard.

But what for?

"No matter what happens Cas," He said, "No matter what, we're sticking together."

He felt Cas take a step forwards so that they were standing back to back, weapons at the ready.

"Come what may," Cas replied.

And then they heard a voice that sent chills running down to his very bones.

"Dean Winchester."

* * *

The call came in at two a.m., of all godforsaken hours of the early morning. At first Sam fumbled for his regular cell, only to find himself perplexed that it wasn't ringing Next he had to search for his burner phone, which woke Amelia up and made Riot bark.

"'Ello?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Sam?"

He sat up straight. That was Kevin. "Hey, buddy. How'd you get this number?"

"Charlie gave it to me. We've been chatting online—she and Garth set up a correspondence once the whole Leviathan thing started going whacko."

"Who is it?" Amelia asked, her voice drowsy.

"I'll tell you later. Go back to sleep."

Sam stood up and padded downstairs so that he could finish the conversation without disturbing her. Whatever it was, he was sure it could wait until she'd gotten a few more hours of sleep.

"So what's up?"

"Okay, so you know how there was a Leviathan tablet?"

"Yeah…"

"Well that got me thinking—if God created a tablet for one species he created, why wouldn't he do it for all of them?"

Sam froze, his mind racing with the implications. The Leviathan tablet had told them exactly how to destroy the Leviathans. If such a tablet existed for others…

"I did some research, and it looks like there's a tablet for each species, including angels and demons. Charlie's done some research and she thinks she knows where the Demon Tablet is, but—"

"But you don't have any hunters that can handle it."

"Garth wanted to, but Becky's in her second trimester and—"

"What?"

"Charlie didn't tell you? They got married about five months back."

Garth and Becky. Now that was a pair.

"So you want me to hunt for it?" Sam gripped the top of a dining room chair, trying to keep his breathing steady. "How did Charlie find all of this out, anyway?"

"Have you heard of the Men of Letters?"

Sam shook his head before remembering that Kevin couldn't see him. "Doesn't ring any bells."

"They're kind of like the opposite of hunters. They're all about collecting lore on monsters and magic. I mean, they're good guys, but they operate different from the hunters. They were kind of like a secret society before they all got wiped out."

"Wiped out?"

"Yeah, in 1958 by some kind of demon—Charlie's been studying up and said it was like nothing she'd ever heard of before."

Dean would have been salivating over this. "What does the tablet supposedly say?"

"Not only how to destroy demons, but how to seal up the very Gates of Hell. There's a prophecy about it supposedly written on the tablet."

Shut down Hell? Prevent demons from influencing and torturing humans again? Yeah, Dean would be all over this. Sam wasn't so sure. He didn't want to risk either Amelia's lives or his own, and he definitely didn't want to ruin his relationship with her. If Charlie had found out about the demon tablet then others must know about it as well. In Sam's experience, there was always someone out there after the same quarry you were. And if this tablet was somehow connected to this 'Men of Letters' society and the vicious demon attack they'd suffered…

"I'm sorry Kevin, but I don't think I—"

Amelia snatched the phone from him. "Kevin! It's so good to finally hear your voice! Sam's told me all about you. We'd love to help out—where can we meet you?"

Sam stood there, dumbfounded, as Amelia listened to Kevin's instructions. "Uh-huh. Yup. Great. See you then!"

Amelia hung up the phone. "He sounds like a lovely boy. I can't wait to meet him in person."

"But—Amelia—do you have any idea—"

"Yes," She replied. "Trust me, Sam, you've informed me and I've done my research and I know what we're in for. Demons and fights and danger to our lives at every turn. But it's a part of your life, Sam. It's something I want to experience. And besides, I can finally meet those friends you've been telling me about."

She grinned at him. "Who knows? It might even be fun!"

Yeah, Sam really knew how to pick 'em.

* * *

**And we're off! Thoughtful reviews are greatly appreciated, as I want to make this the best it can possibly be.**


	2. Prodigal Son

**Chapter Summary: Team Purgatory deals with Dick Roman and Eve once and for all, while Sam gets thrown back into hunting, taking Amelia with him.**

* * *

Sam had thought he'd given Amelia enough of a rundown. He'd shown her the Impala's secret compartment and explained what the various weapons were. He'd explained about Devil's Traps, salting and burning, holy water, and Ruby's knife. He had very carefully detailed how this was basically his brother's firstborn child and all that he had left of Dean, so she needed to be treated with care (he needn't have worried—Amelia took one look at the car and worshipped it). He'd told her all about how they'd met Garth, Becky, Kevin, and Charlie. So really, he thought he'd gone over everything.

What he failed to take into account was the sheer insanity of the people he called friends.

"They're here!" Becky's shrill voice rang out. Sam winced. He'd forgotten what a high register that voice could reach.

Taking that on cue, two bundles of energy barreled out of the houseboat and streaked towards Sam. One had short black hair and the other was carrot-topped, but both slammed into him hard enough to knock him over.

"Hey Kevin, Charlie," Sam croaked.

Charlie planted a big sloppy kiss on his cheek. "Heya Sammy!"

"We missed you." Kevin's voice was muffled from his face being mashed between Sam's chest and Charlie's left arm.

"Let the guy up," Garth said. Charlie and Kevin scampered off of him and each took a hand, hauling him to his feet and allowing Garth to give him a hug.

"Look at you!" The hunter said, showing one of his trademark grins. "Just as tall as I remembered! I was starting to worry I'd exaggerated."

"Ohmygosh you got a haircut!"

Becky Rosen, now a good five months pregnant, was slowly making her way over to him with a huge smile on her face. "And this must be Amelia!"

Amelia smiled a little nervously. "You must be Becky."

Sam was beginning to wonder if he hadn't warned Amelia enough.

"This must be one special lady to get Sam to cut off that mop," Garth noted as he turned to Amelia. "Sam's got a few insecurity issues but he's the best guy you could've landed."

"Thanks," Amelia said. "I know."

Charlie stepped forward and gave Amelia a huge hug. "I'm Charlie!" She declared, a bit unnecessarily. "And you're gorgeous. Do you have a sister?"

"Okay," Sam said, pushing forwards. "I think—"

"Are you all going to stand out there in the heat or are you actually going to invite your guests in?" Linda Tran called from where she stood on the porch, arms folded.

The whole party trooped into the houseboat where Becky promptly collapsed into a chair, looking exhausted. "Pregnancy's been a bit hard," Garth admitted quietly. "But she's a trooper."

"How did you two…?"

Garth shrugged. "I helped her out after the whole crazy marriage deal, one thing led to another and…" He smiled. "Sometimes you just know."

"Uh-huh." Those two together was going to take some getting used to.

Linda helped Amelia get a seat and brought out some lemonade. "How'd you two get here?" Sam asked.

"Dean gave us Garth's number as an emergency contact in case something happened to you two," Kevin explained. "I had a vision of this place and after the Leviathan deal I called and Garth took us in."

"It hasn't been too bad," Linda said, handing Sam a glass. "Kevin's almost back on track for college."

Sam took a sip of the lemonade, relieved. At least one of them was set to have a normal life. "So how'd you stumble upon this whole Gates of Hell deal?"

"Oh no you don't," Charlie plopped herself down in a chair. "We want details."

"Why'd you leave hunting?" Becky demanded.

Even Amelia was looking at him expectantly.

"Well, I, uh," He had no idea how to begin. "I always wanted a normal life, I guess. After SucroCorp I finally had a chance at that again. And then I met Amelia here and I couldn't see her hurt. I just wanted to live."

He mused that it probably would have taken some torture tools to pry that much information out of Dean.

Becky and Charlie made identical _aww_ noises, and Sam became extremely worried for his sanity now that the two of them were together.

"Can we get down to business?" Kevin asked. Charlie cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder.

Sam sat down, Amelia settling herself in next to him. "Sorry about this," He whispered.

"Don't worry about it," She replied, cradling her lemonade. "I like them."

* * *

"For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."

Eve, Mother of All, smiled at Dean. He tightened his grip on his machete, making sure to keep himself between her and Cas.

"Pretty sure we killed you," Dean said.

"What happens to monsters when they die?" Eve asked. "They come here."

"Oh yeah?" Dean raised his blade. "So what happens if I kill you here?"

Eve laughed. "I'd like to see you try, my son."

Dean realized he was gritting his teeth and tried to relax his jaw. "I'm no son of yours."

"Whatever you say," Eve replied. "At least one of my children is loyal."

Dean wanted to ask who she was talking about when he felt Cas stiffen behind him. Dean turned his head slightly, still keeping an eye on Eve, and saw movement. Someone stepped out from the Leviathan crowd to stand directly in front of Cas, who was still standing back-to-back with Dean.

"Hello, boys."

Great. Just great.

Dick Roman's grin was even smarmier than he remembered. Eve gave a martyred sigh and Dean turned his attention back to her.

"Unlike many of my other children," Eve sent a venomous glare to the other Leviathan, who collectively cowered, "The Alphas always remember where they came from." She smiled indulgingly at Dick, who positively preened.

"I think we know who the Mama's Boy is," Dean muttered.

Dean could sense Roman's glare, but Eve's smile didn't waver. "We've been waiting a long time for this moment, Dean Winchester. With the angel's power, we can again leave Purgatory."

"I thought you needed a virgin for that."

"Dean, I am a—"

"Not. Helping. Cas."

"It's not merely the angel's despoiled state," Eve wrinkled up her nose, but he couldn't tell if it was in amusement or distaste. "But the power he wields."

"Don't you get it?" Dean demanded. "You're finished. Done. You tried taking over the world once and you failed. Think you could take a hint?"

Eve gave him a pitying look. "You forget, my son. Mother always knows best."

* * *

"So. Men of Letters," Sam said, stretching out his feet. They'd had dinner, caught up, and were now relaxing in the living room again. Kevin and Charlie had yanked out a pile of papers and spread them all over the coffee table while Linda and Becky had departed for bed. Garth was reading a book, some supernatural romance or something that he kept chuckling over, making comments such as _oh dear, that's not how you kill a vamp_.

"Men of Letters," Kevin affirmed, nodding.

"I discovered them after Kevin told me about the idea of multiple tablets," Charlie explained. "It turns out that they were collectors of lore, and big planners. They felt that simply hunting monsters one at a time wasn't enough—they needed to think of the big picture. So they started searching for the tablets to try and find a way to stop demons and monsters for good."

"And did they find them?"

"They definitely found at least one—the Demon Tablet."

"But Sam told me you said the Men of Letters were destroyed in 1958," Amelia cut in. "How could there be records?"

"One person did survive the massacre," Charlie said. "He wrote down an account."

"Who was he?" Sam asked.

Charlie gave him a strangely intense look, then picked up a small leather-bound book and handed it to him.

"A young Men of Letters initiate," Charlie said. "His name was Henry Winchester."

* * *

_August 12, 1958_

_I have failed._

_The order to which I have bound my life is destroyed. We have been betrayed and massacred and I… I am the only survivor. I am the last of the Men of Letters._

_It is a terrible burden._

_I have transcribed all of my experiences in the hopes that later initiates—possibly my son, John, or my grandchildren should I have them—would be able to learn from my experiences and grow in their knowledge. I know that both Josie and I were hesitant to join this society despite their noble cause, and I had hoped that my words would serve as a guide and silence any doubts._

_Josie._

_Josie Sands was my friend. That must never be forgotten. These times away from my beloved Millie and John were hard on me, and Josie was ever my steadfast companion. I know how eager she was to join the order, and eradicate demons and other monsters from society._

_Today was supposed to be her initiation. I had been initiated mere weeks before, as I detailed in a previous entry. Josie seemed so happy. She always had the biggest smile. I shudder to think of what she has had to go through, possessed by a Knight of Hell. I never told her—I regret that now. Those who have read the previous entries may have already guessed this, but Josie was the sister I never had. The tears I shed are not only for my fallen brethren but also for her and what she must have suffered these past months, trapped with that thing controlling her._

_Larry managed to entrust me with the Key before passing away. I cannot even begin to detail what was done to him and the others—it is past comprehension. I will have to burn their bodies tomorrow. We cannot leave any traces._

_The Key to the Bunker is the most important thing. Within the Bunker is compiled all the knowledge the Men of Letters possess—thousands of years of scholarly work. If Abaddon got her hands on that…_

_That's her name: Abaddon, the last Knight of Hell. We believed the Knights destroyed by the archangels—there are many accounts of the battle—but Abaddon, the youngest knight, must have escaped. If she is what she claims to be, then she is the most powerful demon other than Lilith._

_She told Larry that we brought this on ourselves. That, in trying to close the Gates of Hell, we had incurred her wrath. The job of the Knights was twofold: serve Lucifer and protect Hell. With Lucifer caged, ensuring the Gates stayed open was the only task left to her._

_But there is no time. Abaddon is still out there, and she will be after the Key to the Bunker. The Demon Tablet is in the safe there, and she cannot be allowed to get her hands on it. The Tablet gives instructions on how to close the Gates, including a prophecy. We have been waiting for a prophet in order to translate it, but have kept it safe in the meantime._

_If I should fail in my task, I give the following code so that those who come after may finish what we started. Hell must be shut. Abaddon must be destroyed. The Men of Letters must continue._

_And, please, tell Millie and John that I love them. I have always loved them. My greatest regret is that I couldn't spend more time with you, and I hope that someday you can find it in your hearts to forgive me._

_Henry Winchester_

* * *

Sam stared at the name on the bottom of the page. It was the diary's last entry—the remaining pages were blank. Casually flipping through the previous pages revealed diagrams, codes, entries and even a couple of sketches, one of which showed a baby with the name _John_ scribbled in the bottom right corner.

"Dad always said that his dad disappeared when he was four," Sam admitted. "Now I know why."

He wondered, briefly, if John would have been different if Henry had been around to raise him. He knew that Grandma Millie and John had been close until her death when John was eighteen, prompting his enlistment, and he knew that Mary's death had hit John hard, but he still wondered. Would John have been different—to Dean, to Sam—if he'd had Henry's influence to draw on?

Probably not—Mary's death had destroyed the John Winchester that existed beforehand, crafting an entirely new person out of the ashes. Like a phoenix, a new creature had arisen, but it had been darker and scarred.

"The code he has written down," Charlie said. "It took a while, but I was able to crack it. It gives the location of this key he talks about."

"The key will unlock the Men of Letters' secret bunker," Kevin added. "It's where the Demon Tablet is."

"And thousands of years of scholarly knowledge," Sam noted, going back over the diary entry.

"I know!" Charlie bounced in her seat. "Imagine all the good that could be done once we found it! I could establish a network—you hunters really need to get into the 21st Century anyway—and just think of all the lore that would be at our fingertips!"

"It says that only a prophet can read the tablet," Sam said, looking over at Kevin. "Are you sure you want to get mixed up in all of this again?"

Kevin nodded. "It'll seal up Hell for good, and if we find this bunker there will be tons of knowledge to study. I think it's a win-win situation."

"What about this Knight of Hell, this Abaddon person?" Sam asked. "Anything on her?"

Charlie shook her head. "I researched the Knights of Hell and learned that they were a set—seven of them, created just after Lilith was. Soon after Lucifer was locked in the Cage they tried to free him, and it led to a battle between the Knights and the remaining Archangels: Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel. It was thought that all of the Knights were killed—Gabriel as well, since he vanished right after the battle."

"But there's been no sign of her?" Sam asked.

"I haven't been able to find anything. It's like she vanished after destroying the Men of Letters."

"Then what happened to Henry?" Amelia asked.

"Nobody knows," Charlie answered. "I won't lie… I think there's a good chance Abaddon got to him. It's pretty clear from his entries that he wanted to see his family again, and I think if he'd hid the key and gotten out alive he would have just gone home."

"But he did manage to hide the key," Sam protested.

"Sure. Doesn't mean Abaddon or something else didn't catch up with him."

Sam looked back down at the journal in his hands. He still wasn't sure about this.

Amelia laid her head on his shoulder. "It sounds like a lot of benefits for a minimal risk," She said, keeping her voice low.

Sam looked at her. "You really want to do this?"

Amelia nodded. "Isn't that why you hunt? To save people?"

Sam looked around him—at Charlie's eager smile and sparkling eyes, at Kevin's set jaw and somber expression, at Garth's calm half-smile and Amelia's sweet, earnest face.

"Okay," He said. "I'm in."

* * *

"You got any bright ideas?" Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

"Dean," Cas sounded rather exasperated. "We're in Purgatory."

"So?"

"How have you killed all of the monsters here?"

Dean kept his eye on Eve and Roman, who were circling, slowly drawing nearer like sharks surrounding a helpless seal pup. "Slice n' dice 'em."

"And how do you kill monsters on Earth?"

"Depends on the monster," Dean replied. "They all need different—"

He realized what Cas was getting at.

On earth, every monster had a specific weapon, spell, or combination that was needed in order to kill them. But here in Purgatory the rules were different. Dean had used his simple machete for every single thing he'd come across: vampires, djinn, rakshasa, shritga, rugaru… they had all fallen. It appeared that in Purgatory, monsters were mortal.

Which meant Eve was going down.

"Ready?" He asked.

"I've been ready, Dean. You're the one drawing this moment out for drama's sake."

"I'll take that as a yes."

They attacked in tandem, Cas going for Roman and Dean striking out at Eve. The other Leviathan stayed still, waiting for a signal before they attacked. Dean had Cas at his back so he couldn't see what was going on with them but he could hear the grunts and growls and assumed it was a fierce fight. Here in Purgatory, Cas and Roman were almost evenly matched.

Fighting Eve was like fighting a snake. She darted and weaved, striking quickly but then retreating. Dean shifted from foot to foot, slowly drawing her out. If he could just get her to overreach…

There! He spun and sliced downward, cutting through the flesh of her upper arm. Eve gave an almighty shriek and recoiled, cradling her shoulder and trying to stop the blood. Dean advanced, feeling the blood slide down the blade of the machete and drip onto his hand. Eve hissed at him, her true, decayed form showing.

"I was the first of God's creations!" She snarled. "He created me before any other sentient being. From me sprung the Leviathan—the first Vampire, the first Werewolf, the first Shapeshifter, the first Djinn—the first of all! I cared for them like He never cared for the angels or Man. I was a mother where He was cold and distant. I was standing before the dawn of time, and I will keep standing when you all are blood and dust!"

Dean brought the machete down, and Eve's head rolled off her shoulders. The Mother of All was dead.

A scream resounded from all around him, and Dean turned. Dick Roman and the other Leviathan were melting into puddles of goo, slowly losing their form and sinking into the sand. Dean stood in shock as he watched the First Children die until there was nothing left but a series of black stains upon the dull earth.

Cas approached, looking a bit worse for wear but generally unharmed.

"How in the hell…"

"The Leviathan were Eve's first children," Cas noted. "Just as when an Alpha dies their children die as well, so when Eve died, her closest children also fell."

"What about the other monsters?" Dean asked. "Are they gone?"

"I doubt it," Cas frowned. "They are not as close to her in physical traits and in blood. They have most likely survived."

"And here I thought we'd single-handedly destroyed every monster out there," Dean grinned. "Ah, well. Win some, lose some."

He looked up at the still-swirling portal. "What d'you say, Cas? Let's get out of here?"

"Dean…"

He turned to see Cas staring off into the middle distance. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

The things that had been following them.

They were back.

* * *

"According to my research…"

"There's a _Magic School Bus_ joke in there somewhere," Sam heard Kevin mumble.

"The key should be somewhere around here," Charlie finished.

They were inside of a small, rather dilapidated church. It was out in the middle of nowhere, ten miles down a thin dirt road away from a one-horse town (no, really, they saw one forlorn looking filly munching on grass next to the general store), surrounded by trees and weeds that were not originally intended to be there.

"Kind of rundown," Amelia commented.

"That's why he hid it here," Sam replied. "Less of a chance that someone would discover it."

"I don't think anyone's been here in at least a decade," Kevin said as he wiped his finger on a pew and grimaced at the dust.

"Where should we start?" Charlie asked.

Sam gazed around, unsure. "How about we split up," He suggested.

"Or we could just leave."

He turned to see Amelia standing by the altar, covered in dust but grinning. Held aloft in her hand was a small wooden box.

"How did you find it?" Sam asked, hurrying up to her. Amelia gestured wordlessly to the massive bible sitting on the altar. The bible was open, showing that someone had cut out the pages in order to make enough room to nestle the small box inside.

"What's that missionaries say? This book has all the answers?" Amelia quipped.

"God I love you," Sam grinned.

Charlie and Kevin made identical gagging faces.

* * *

"Where are they?" Dean whispered.

"Just past the tree line," Cas replied. "I can't tell how many."

Dean searched, but didn't see anything. "Any idea what they are?"

Cas shook his head ever so slightly. "They're not close enough yet."

A wind—the first wind Dean had ever experienced here—ruffled the leaves on the trees.

"Whatever it or they are, it's something powerful," Dean said, keeping his machete drawn.

The wind grew stronger, and eventually Dean became aware of a noise. It was one he hadn't heard in years, but certainly not one he'd ever forget. Instinctively he covered his ears and closed his eyes. He felt Cas's hands go over his own, and knew without looking that the angel was trying to protect Dean.

The unbearable howling and wind continued, and even through his closed eyelids he could see traces of blinding light.

"Dean." Cas's voice felt like the calm after the storm, low and steady and soothing. "You can open your eyes now."

He felt Cas step away from him and he stood up, opening his eyes and removing his hands from his ears. Once again they were surrounded, only this time it was by only a handful. They stood at the edge of the trees, blades in hand. There couldn't have been more than six, but Dean could feel Cas's unease. At least now they knew what had been tracking them.

"Goddamn angels," Dean muttered.

* * *

"This is it?"

"Yup."

"This is the storing place of a thousand years of knowledge?"

"Yup."

"It's a hatch in the ground."

"Yup."

Sam side-eyed Charlie. "Do I need to check that code?"

Charlie grinned. "C'mon, Sam. A bunker's a bunker, no matter how small."

Sam rolled his eyes but stepped forward. It wasn't exactly a hatch in the ground, but came close. The small metal door was cut into a hillside and surrounded by brick and concrete, the dilapidated remains of a small factory about ten feet higher up the hill. He had to admit, this was an ideal vantage point. The trees obscured the building from view—they were in the middle of a forest, after all—but he could see for miles from where he was standing.

"This probably just leads to a sewer," he said, pulling out the wooden box Amelia had found. He ran his fingers over the smooth wood, finally finding the catch and pressing it. The lid of the box swung open, revealing a small metal key. Sam couldn't tell what metal it was made from, but it still gleamed after so many years of lying in wait. On the handle was the Men of Letters insignia.

Sam walked down the few steps to reach the door, looking down at the handle. There was a keyhole that looked like the key would fit, but there was no guarantee that it actually would. Sam carefully inserted the key into the lock—surprisingly, it slid in like it had been used yesterday instead of over sixty years ago. He turned the key with a smooth _click_ and the door swung open.

"Probably just leads to a sewer, huh?" Charlie said.

Sam entered the bunker first, Ruby's knife in hand. Amelia was next, holding the gun he'd given her. Charlie and Kevin followed, each with their own weapons.

They walked down a dark, narrow tunnel for about twenty feet before they came to another door. Sam held up the flashlight; carved into the door was the Men of Letters insignia.

"Try the key!" Charlie said.

Sam inserted the key again and turned it. The door swung inwards, revealing a black, gaping maw. He took a tentative step forward and found himself on some kind of landing. It was small, with a railing on the front and right sides, but all around him was air. His instincts told him he was high up. Feeling along the wall (it appeared to be made of more concrete), he found a switch and flicked it.

Light flooded the room from dozens of lamps, revealing—

"By the power of the Death Star…" Charlie breathed from somewhere behind him.

They were standing on a landing overlooking the most massive room Sam had ever seen. There were bookshelves as far as the eye could see, with tables and chairs and doors leading off to who knew where.

"This is amazing," Kevin exclaimed, gazing hungrily at the books.

"How are we supposed to find a tablet in a place of this size?" Amelia asked. The look on her face was one of slight disbelief but mostly wonder, and Sam smiled affectionately.

"I can find it," Kevin said, tearing his eyes away from the books. "I can sense it when I get near it. It's like a," He gestured at his face. "Tugging sensation, in the base of my skull. Sometimes my stomach."

"Guess we'll just have to search each room."

The bunker was nothing short of massive, stuffed with books and scrolls and boxes of lore and artifacts. Kevin was practically salivating and Charlie was chomping at the bit to organize everything and digitalize it. Their enthusiasm was catching and Sam found himself yearning to go through the books, to see what secrets they held. It was more up his alley than hunting—he'd always loved research and studying, and this was all of that combined with helping people.

They were on their fifteenth (sixteenth?) room when Kevin froze.

"You sense anything?"

Kevin slowly turned in a circle, looking like a puppy that had caught a scent. "It's in here somewhere."

Charlie spun in a slow 360, forehead and lips puckered. "This place is messy," She stated. "But there's a method to the madness."

"Yeah, Horatio?" Sam teased.

"Sure." Charlie took slow steps around the room, peering at everything. "Haven't you noticed? Everything's just kind of piled and it certainly isn't marked but each room has a theme. There are signs of what's been worked on and what the general purpose is."

Sam gazed around the room, wondering how he could have missed it. He was too busy inspecting artifacts and books, honestly.

"What's the theme of this room?" He asked.

"Demons," Charlie said.

It hit Sam that the Men of Letters would have loved to get their hands on Ruby's knife, and he wondered if there were other knives like that hidden somewhere around here.

"Something as important as this tablet," Amelia said. "Wouldn't have been kept out in the open."

Sam turned just in time to see Amelia run her hands along the wall, tapping quietly and pressing her ear to listen. He quickly took up the same treatment on the opposite wall, straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. The wall appeared to be of solid concrete, with nothing to break the smooth surface.

"Sam!"

He hurried over to where Amelia was poking at the wall. "You can't see it," she said. "But there's a hole here."

Sure enough, the tip of her finger vanished into the wall. "I think it's another keyhole."

Sam took the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the hole. It entered and turned with another smooth click. A portion of the wall slid away, revealing a small shelf cut into the concrete. Resting on it was a simple wooden box upon which were carved various anti-demon sigils. He took it out and set it down carefully as Amelia, Charlie and Kevin crowded around him. Sam lifted the box lid, revealing a flat, black stone almost identical to the Leviathan tablet.

"Can you read it?" He asked.

Kevin peered at the tablet, tilting his head. "It's definitely the demon tablet," He said. "It might take me a while to decipher it, though."

Sam nodded. "Get to it."

* * *

Dean looked at the six angels slowly advancing on them, trying to find a way out. "You know why they're here?" He asked.

"No," Cas admitted. "But then, I have no idea what the state of Heaven has been since my death and time as a human."

"Castiel." One of the angels stepped forward. She had red hair pulled back into a fierce bun and wore a powder-grey suit. She looked like she meant business. "We've been searching for you."

All of the color drained out of Cas's face, and Dean didn't have to ask to know that they were in trouble.

"Son of a bitch." They had to get to that portal. "C'mon!"

Dean booked it, Cas a steady presence at his side as they tore towards the portal. There wasn't a whole lot of ground to cover, and it took them about ten steps before they got there.

It happened between one step and another—one second Cas was by his side and the next, he wasn't. Dean whirled just in time to see Cas sucker punch the angel grabbing him, throwing the attacker to the side. Another one came at them and Dean turned, bringing the machete down on side of the angel's neck. It didn't kill it, but it delayed the angel long enough for Dean to break past, dragging Cas behind him.

"How do we get into the portal?" Dean asked, gazing up at it. The angels were recovering and closing in fast.

"No idea," Cas replied.

Dean was going to say something snarky but felt a sudden tug in his gut. He only had time to grab onto Cas's arm with all of his might before he was thrown upwards, like gravity had started working in reverse. One of the angels lunged, fingers just scraping Cas's shoes as he was pulled along with Dean into the portal. Every muscle in Dean's body was screaming in pain from holding onto Cas but he didn't let go, not even when the swirling clouds of gray and blue overtook his vision and he began to black out.

Just before he lost consciousness, he felt Cas's hands grip him back.

* * *

"I figured out the prophecy!"

Sam sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Amelia snoozed away, her head on his chest, while Charlie was face-planted in the middle of _A Feast for Crows_. He turned, wincing as his back cracked, and saw Kevin waving a pile of notes in his hand as he hurried over to them.

"Hmm? Wuzzah?" Charlie asked, sitting up. "Jump to warp speed five?"

Amelia made a snuffling noise and resolutely buried her face into Sam's shirt. To say she was not a morning person would be putting it lightly.

"What did you find?" Sam asked.

Kevin sat down next to Charlie, holding out his notes. "I figured out the prophecy, which is the first part of the tablet." He pointed at various scribbles. "The tablet starts out with explaining the 'pestilence of demons' and how they must be 'purged'. There's a 'method of eradication' on here somewhere, I think it's some kind of bomb, but it says that's a secondary resort. Most of it is about closing the Gates of Hell and sealing the demons inside forever."

"Sounds good," Sam said, trying to make sense of Kevin's notes. "What's the catch?"

"Why does there have to be a catch?" Charlie asked.

"There's always a catch," Amelia mumbled crankily. Sam ran his hand through his hair and she stretched out, seeking his fingers like an oversized cat.

Kevin sighed, shuffling his notes. "The Gates can only be closed by the completion of three trials. I haven't quite worked out what those are yet."

"But we can assume they're dangerous."

Kevin nodded. "Yeah. It says that the person who undertakes the trials shall fear neither, 'death, nor Hell, nor'—" Kevin peered at his notes. "Well roughly translated the word means to suffer having your spine ripped out through your mouth for eternity."

Sam winced but Charlie looked entirely too eager. "So how do we know who the person is?"

Kevin held up a page of notes. "It's pretty specific. Person of a certain bloodline, blah blah blah—here we go."

He passed the list to Sam, who had to tilt his head to read the handwriting. As he read the criteria, his blood slowly began to run cold until nothing but ice filled his veins.

"Sam?" Amelia sat up, suddenly alert. "Sam. What's wrong?"

He heard Kevin suck in a breath. "It's Sam. Sam's the one who has to go through the trials."

"No."

They all looked at him. "No?" Amelia asked, a thread of hope in her voice.

"It's not me." Sam looked up, swallowing hard. "It's my little brother Adam."

* * *

The first thing Dean saw was blue: soft, worn, cerulean blue. He blinked and sat up. He was surrounded by green grass and thick trees underneath the clean blue September sky.

He was on earth. He'd made it through.

But where was…

"Cas?"

Dean jumped up, looking around. There was no sign of the angel. Dean realized he was on the edge of a glittering blue lake, and he was coated in mud. He turned around, trying to get his bearings, and saw—

"Cas!"

The angel was lying facedown at the edge of the water, filthy trenchcoat spread out around him. The sight was too damn close to another one Dean had seen and his heart pounded in his throat as he hurried over. He gently turned Cas face up, unsure what to do. He couldn't check for breathing, because angels didn't need to breathe. Should he look for a pulse?

"Cas. Cas, c'mon. Wake up. We made it. You gotta wake up." He shook Cas by the shoulder, trying not to let panic overtake him. Please, not this. He didn't come so far to lose him like this.

The angel jolted awake, eyes flying open and chest expanding on a huge breath. Dean heaved a sigh of relief and hauled the angel to him, holding him tightly. "Scared the shit outta me, Cas."

"My apologies," Cas said, his arms wrapping around Dean's shoulders.

"C'mon," Dean stood and pulled Cas to his feet. "We gotta delivery to make."

Getting to Louisiana from wherever the fuck they were took no time thanks to Cas's mojo being back online. Dean opened up his arm again, letting the soul pour itself on the scattered bones. They were exactly where Benny had told him they'd be. The soul poured itself over the bones, wrapping itself around them and slowly hardening, building itself up and joining together until a full body stood before them.

Benny grinned, slow and easy. "You did it, brother."

"You doubt me?" Dean asked.

"Never," Benny chuckled, holding out his hand. Dean clasped it, drawing the vampire in for a one-armed hug.

"Take care of yourself," He warned.

"I will." Benny pulled back. "You ever need me, brother, you know to call." He nodded at Cas. "You too, angel."

Cas nodded solemnly. "Thank you for your help."

Benny shrugged. "I'll see you around, _mon cher_."

The vampire walked out into the dark, whistling.

* * *

"Who?" All three chorused.

"My half-brother, Adam Milligan." Sam tapped the piece of paper. "He's the one who fills the criteria properly, not me."

"I didn't know you had another brother," Kevin admitted.

"I did," Charlie piped up. "It's in the books."

"Those damn books," Sam growled.

Of all the things he regretted, Adam was definitely one of them. He knew it weighed heavy on Dean's conscience, both that Michael had used Adam has a vessel because of Dean's refusal and Dean's failure to get Adam out of the Cage. But Sam had been in there with Adam. He'd had the best big brother in the world as a role model, and yet he'd failed to take care of Adam when he'd had the chance. Some might argue that two archangels versus a human wasn't the greatest of odds, but Sam felt that he should have done more. Adam was just a kid, and he was still stuck in Hell, enduring endless torment.

It made the back of his throat burn and bile churn sickeningly in his stomach. He vaguely registered Amelia stroking his shoulder and getting up, saying something about getting him water. He knew that Kevin and Charlie were talking, but he didn't know what they were saying. Everything was through a thick wall and he heard nothing but the roaring of blood in his ears until—

"How do we find him?" Kevin asked.

Charlie shook her head. "We don't," She answered.

"Why not?"

Charlie looked down at her hands in her lap. "He's dead, Kevin."

"How is that possible? The prophecy states—"

"Well the prophecy's messed up. It's in the books—Becky showed me. Adam was the vessel for the archangel Michael while Sam was the vessel for Lucifer. When Lucifer and Michael were locked in the Cage, down in the very deepest pit of Hell, Sam and Adam were trapped there as well. Death got Sam out for Dean, but he refused to get Adam. Adam's still down there, trapped with Satan and the King of the Pricks."

Sam felt liquid welling up in his eyes and throat, finding it hard to breathe. He was just a kid. Just a kid worried about his mom. Just a kid wanting to find out about the family he hadn't known he had.

"Here you go."

Something cool was pressed into his hands and slowly raised to his lips. Sam drank the water, letting it slide down his throat. Amelia's hands were small but warm over his.

"I don't know what the big deal is," She said to Charlie and Kevin. "I found him in about five minutes on my smartphone."

The redhead and the prophet gaped at her. Sam blinked away the tears, frowning. What had she said?

Amelia waved her phone at them. "He's twenty four years old, studied pre-med at University of Wisconsin, and is currently enrolled in his third year of medical school there."

Sam stared at her. "I'm sorry—what?"

Amelia handed him the phone. "It's all on Google. He won an award two years ago that was posted on the school's web paper, I found his Facebook profile, and he published some kind of article on stem cells for a student medical journal six months ago."

Sam looked down at the phone, staring up at the face of his half-brother. Adam had grown and aged, the last of his baby fat and puppyish appearance vanishing, making his features more defined. His face had a chiseled look to it, his eyes piercing and mouth set. He'd grown his hair out too, just a bit, and appeared to have grown an inch. In short he looked like an adult, not a boy on the cusp of being a man.

What was more, he looked happy.

* * *

The first thing Dean did was to shove them both into the shower. The water running over their bodies came away black for a long time, and as much as he wanted to get frisky they needed to hurry or they were going to run out of hot water—and after all he'd just been through, he didn't much fancy bathing in snow runoff. Cas insisted that he was an angel, Dean, he could clean himself up in the blink of an eye, but Dean liked the idea of washing the dirt and grime away. It was like baptism, purification—a final farewell to the trenches where they'd spent the last four months.

Cas stepped out of the shower before Dean did, and by the time Dean exited the angel had finished touching himself up. The scruff was gone and the suit and coat were in pristine condition, his hair back to its stuck-up state. Dean grinned. He wanted nothing more than to shove the angel down onto the nearest bed, damn the cheap ugly-ass linens, and see just how much fun they could have, but first things first.

"That red-haired angel," he asked, reaching for his shirt. Cas had apparently also cleaned his clothes. Dean's heart warmed at the thoughtfulness. "Who's she?"

"Naomi," Cas answered. "One of the most powerful angels in Heaven."

"Never heard of her," Dean replied, toweling his hair dry.

"Most haven't." Cas did that thing with his face where he looked like he'd smelled something sour. "She—the closest approximation would be, I suppose, the head of Internal Affairs combined with the Pentagon and the CIA."

"Sounds pretty sketchy," Dean observed.

"Very." Cas sat down on the edge of the bed and handed Dean his pants—also cleaned with angel mojo. "She worked closely with Michael during his campaign to keep things in line when Father left, and was a part of Raphael's inner circle during the war. I was never able to pin anything on her, but I had my suspicions. She always claimed she was a neutral party."

"Any idea what she's after?"

"Power, most likely." Castiel frowned. "I suspect that she has taken charge of Heaven in my absence. I had yet to cement my lieutenants when I left, and in the resulting chaos she could have easily taken command."

"What's she like?"

"I'm not sure. Nobody knows much about her. I just know that she keeps angels in line."

"Doesn't sound good."

"No." Cas shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

* * *

"I can't do this."

Sam gripped the Impala's steering wheel just to have something to ground himself. He was breathing but no oxygen seemed to making its way to his brain and he felt lightheaded—winded, almost.

"We have to, Sam," Amelia said gently. "It's too late to turn back now."

Objectively, Sam knew that she was right. Adam was the one in the prophecy on the tablet, so Adam was the one who had to close the Gates. But it made him sick to his stomach. What was it about his family? Could no one escape unscathed?

And just how had Adam gotten out of the Cage, anyhow?

Amelia laid her hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly. "I can go with you, if you want," She offered.

Sam shook his head. He had to be the one to do this.

Steeling himself, Sam exited the car. Adam was making his way from one side of campus to another—Charlie had gotten his schedule with a deft bit of hacking—and he appeared to be alone.

"Adam!" Sam called.

The kid—Sam would always think of him as a kid—turned, frowning. "That's me," He said.

Adam was all Kate Milligan until he leveled that piercing stare at you. Sam had been on the receiving end of that almost-glare from both John and Dean, and had probably given it to someone a few times himself. When someone gave you that look, you knew they were John Winchester's son.

"Sorry to bother you like this," Sam said. "I'm probably the last person you want to see."

Adam frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Why would that be?" He asked.

"Well you—I—we—" Sam frowned, gazing at Adam's blank expression. "You don't remember, do you?"

Adam gave a small grin. It reminded Sam of Dean, and he knew there was nervousness hiding behind the bravado. "Remember what?"

"I'm…" Sam didn't know what to say. He hadn't been prepared for this. "You don't remember anything?"

Adam shook his head. "Sorry, man. Whatever it is, I don't—"

Sam grabbed his wrist as Adam tried to turn away. "It's me," He said. He hadn't realized how desperate he was for this. He needed Adam to see him, to know who he was. He needed… he needed forgiveness.

"And you are?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester." Sam released Adam's wrist and spread his arms out a little. "I'm your big brother."

Adam's eyes widened and his face drained of color, staring at Sam like he'd seen a ghost. "Holy fuck."

"You remember?"

Adam launched himself at Sam, hugging him tightly around the middle. Even with a growth spurt the top of his head only came up to Sam's chin. Before his brain could catch up Sam found himself hugging Adam back, cradling the thin body as Adam cried.

He wondered if this was anything like what Dean had felt when Cas had remembered whom he was. He remembered when Cas had broken down the wall in his head, letting the memories of Hell overtake him. The fact that Adam wasn't screaming and tearing his face off was a good sign, but Sam would be shocked if the kid didn't have a few issues.

"C'mon," He said. "Let's get you out of here."

They drove down to Lawrence, Kansas, and parked in front of an unassuming house in the middle of suburbia.

"Sam Winchester," Missouri Moseley chastised him. "When was the last time you called me?"

"Two years ago?" Sam hazarded.

"And how often did you promise you'd call?"

"Once a week?"

Missouri clapped him on the back of the head. "Get your skinny ass inside my house. And who is this lovely lady—oh." Missouri stopped short once she got a good look at Amelia. "Well, aren't you a strong one."

Amelia smiled. "I hope so."

Missouri gave Amelia a piercing look, and Sam knew she was getting the full Moseley examination. "I am sorry, child," She finally said, a heavy weight in her eyes.

Amelia seemed surprised. "Thank you."

When Adam stepped inside, Missouri sucked in a breath. "Well if you aren't John Winchester's son, my psychic days are over. Sit down and help yourself to some lemonade. Unless I'm gravely mistaken, you're the reason this big galoot is here."

Sam busied himself showing Amelia his childhood home while Missouri talked with Adam. Why he hadn't thought to visit the psychic when he'd been doing the crazy, he didn't know, but he was glad he'd thought of it this time around. They couldn't afford to give Adam weeks of therapy, and they'd lock him up for half of the things he said anyway.

By dinnertime, they were allowed back into the house. Adam's eyes were red and puffy and he looked like he'd just swallowed castor oil, but he smiled wanly at Sam when he caught sight of him. Without a word, he stood up and hugged Sam again.

"Thanks," He whispered. "For protecting me."

Sam opened his mouth to protest but caught sight of the glare Missouri was leveling at him and snapped his mouth shut, hugging Adam back. It was only later that night with Adam tucked away in one of the spare bedrooms that she explained.

"You tried to protect him down there, didn't you?"

Sam nodded, eyeing Amelia as she topped off her third glass of wine. "You sure you want to be having that?"

Amelia raised her glass in a mock toast. "It's my first in months, Sam. I'll be fine."

Trusting her, Sam turned back to Missouri. "How can he think that? I failed. They got at him no matter what I did. It was usually Michael—Lucifer was busy with me." He suppressed a shudder at the memories. "I tried everything I could think of but it didn't work."

"But the point is you tried, and he knows it," Missouri countered. "He's grateful to you, boy. I wouldn't second guess it."

"Did he tell you how he got out?" Sam asked.

"That's the million-dollar question," Amelia said.

"He said that a tall, gaunt man got him out," Missouri said. "It was the same man that rescued you. Came right after he got you out, and he blocked Adam's memories of the Cage. Would have kept them blocked, too, but I think the bond you two developed in the Cage was deep enough that just hearing your name—seeing you again—unlocked the flood gates."

Sam winced. He wished he could have thought of a way to spare Adam from this. "What's he been up to?"

"He thought his mother had died in a burglary gone wrong. He went through the five stages, got a little bit of counseling, and kept going through medical school. Had a girlfriend at one point but they broke up a couple of months ago."

"So he was living a good life until I came along again." He knew he sounded bitter but he didn't care.

"You didn't have a choice," Amelia pointed out, glaring at him as if he'd dare to contradict her.

"That boy's grateful to you, Sam," Missouri said, her voice soft. "You did your best by him, and he thinks of you as a brother. Don't waste that."

Sam glanced over at the stairs that led to the second floor where Adam lay, blissfully asleep. Tomorrow they'd have to tell him about why they'd found him—and what he had to do.

"I'm bringing him nothing but pain," He said.

Missouri said nothing, but her eyes were heavy with sadness.

* * *

"What's our next move?"

Dean paused in the middle of tying his shoelaces. "Find Sam, of course. Check up on him. Any ideas about this Naomi chick?"

Cas had that look on his face—the one where he was thinking very, very deeply about something and questioning whether it was the right thing or not. Dean had first seen that look when they'd sat together on a park bench, watching children play. It hadn't been the last.

"Heaven has been broken for a long time," Cas began slowly, weighing each word with precision. "I realized that during the Apocalypse, and I tried to fix it. I overreached—became power hungry—and I failed. I fell into the same trap that Michael and Raphael did."

Dean wanted to interrupt, to say that Cas had been doing what he thought was best, but he held his tongue.

"We have strayed from our true purpose of guiding and protecting humanity. Now, we see only our own selfish desires. Our desire to rule and to fall into the boxes, the roles, provided for us. We were soldiers when we should have been warriors, and in doing so we have failed our Father and humanity. With Naomi in charge, things can only have gotten worse." Cas looked up at Dean, his gaze pinning the hunter to his seat. "I think that we need to close the Gates of Heaven, Dean."

* * *

They told him over breakfast the next morning.

"So let me get this straight," Adam said. "Dean was the Righteous Man, you were the Child King, and I'm closing the Gates of Hell? What is it with this family?"

"I wish I knew," Sam admitted. "But some days I like to blame Dad—ow!"

Missouri sashayed past him, spoon in hand. "Don't speak ill of the dead, Sam Winchester."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied, rubbing the back of his head. Amelia tried to hide her giggle in her toast and failed, and he kicked at her playfully before sobering up again.

"It's your choice," He told Adam. "You don't have to do this. You have a promising career ahead of you, the rest of school—a wonderfully normal life."

Adam contemplated this, stirring the remaining cheerios in his bowl. "I know," He said. "But this time I'm going into it with my eyes open, right? No angels tricking me into things."

"We're trying to make sure there are no surprises, but you never know. But I can promise you that I'll protect you as best I can."

Amelia held up her glass of orange juice. "Same."

Adam looked up at Sam, his eyes wide. He might have been in his twenties now but to Sam, he was still a child. "It'll be dangerous, won't it?"

Sam nodded.

Adam looked back down at his cereal for a moment, and then raised his eyes to Sam, his jaw set and eyes blazing. Sam knew that look. He'd seen it plenty of times on Dean.

"I'll do it," Adam said.

* * *

"Close the Gates?" Dean frowned. "How?"

"There was a Leviathan tablet," Cas said. "Transcribed by God, telling how to destroy them."

"Yeah, so?"

"There was a tablet for every one of God's creations, Dean. If there was a Leviathan tablet then there must be an angel tablet as well."

"But that will say how to destroy angels, not how to lock them up."

"Not necessarily. The Leviathan tablet said how to lock them up. Kevin simply read the part on how to destroy them. Trying to destroy each and every angel will take too long, and I wish to avoid killing more of my brethren if possible. They are mistaken, but their actions are fueled by pure desires. If we can find that tablet and get it to Kevin—"

"Then he can tell us how to close the Gates and we can seal the angels inside. They're alive, but they can't interfere with humans anymore. And this Naomi, whatever she's planning, will be trapped."

Cas nodded. "Exactly."

A slow smile spread over Dean's face. "Then what are we waiting for?"


	3. Apple Pie Life

**Dean and Cas are out of Purgatory but are still being hunted, while Sam, Amelia and Adam struggle with the Men of Letters and Abaddon.**

* * *

The _pop_ of the gun filled the empty air, and the tin can went down.

"Nice!"

Adam grinned, ducking his head self-consciously. "It only took me all afternoon."

"Hey, it's understandable." Sam grinned encouragingly. "You've never held one of these before, and good marksmanship takes a while."

"Tell that to her," Adam replied, jutting his chin at Amelia.

Sam had known that Amelia was both intelligent and capable, but he hadn't expected her to take to hunting like a duck to water in the way that she had. As he watched, she fired another round, knocking another tin can off its perch. She'd been hitting bull's eyes and reloading like she'd been born to it.

And honestly, Sam was grateful. It was good to know that he wouldn't have to worry as much about Amelia being able to take care of herself. They were undertaking a dangerous mission, and although most of the heat would be on Adam he didn't want any of them to get hurt because of something he'd failed to teach them.

He turned back to his half-brother and bumped him with his shoulder. "Go on. Empty the gun and we'll call it a day."

* * *

"We'll call Sam in the morning, see about meeting up and getting in touch with Kevin," Dean said, heading towards the single motel bed.

Cas tilted his head to the side. "Why don't we just go now? It's not that late in the evening."

"First things first," Dean said, "Is we get some sleep."

"I do not need sleep, Dean," Cas countered.

"You slept plenty in Purgatory."

"That was different," Cas said, watching as Dean folded back blankets and fluffed pillows. "Here I have the same powers as before."

"Doesn't mean sleep won't be relaxing," Dean replied. "And you might not need sleep, but I do. Purgatory knocked the wind outta me, man. I gotta relax."

"You know, they say there are other ways to relax."

Dean snorted. "What like a massage or—"

Cas's meaning hit him like a sack of bricks to the face. And he could say that from experience because he'd once been hit with a sack of bricks right in his face. (Werewolf hunt when he was nineteen. Don't ask.) He straightened up.

"Cas?" He asked. "Did you just hit on me?"

He'd wanted to jump Cas since—well he didn't know when—and he'd realized he was in love with him about three years ago, but he'd been willing to take it slow. Cas wasn't naïve but he didn't have any relationship experience to go on, and Dean would be the last person to push Cas into something he didn't want. But when Cas said things like that…

Well, Dean wasn't about to complain.

Cas's face flushed red, which was just too freakin' adorable. "Did it work?"

Dean moved around to join Cas on the other side of the bed, waiting to speak until they were standing bare inches apart. "Yeah, it worked," He told him.

Kissing Cas was like kissing a lightning storm. It was both the most real and the most unreal thing Dean had ever experienced, every sense heightened until he couldn't quite tell if he was dreaming. Despite their slightly chapped nature Cas's lips were soft against his, and when tongues got involved they became flushed and spit-slick. Dean tugged the bottom one into his mouth, letting his teeth sink slightly into the soft pillow of them, drawing blood to the surface. In Purgatory Cas kissed like it was the last thing he'd ever get to do, like this was their only chance, and Dean had let him because hey, you never knew what the morning would bring. But now Dean wanted to show him another way—slow and easy and deep, taking their time.

"Cas," He whispered. Cas continued to kiss him, peppering small kisses on Dean's jaw and nose. "Cas. Slow down. It's okay. We got time." He kissed Cas slowly, letting a sliver of tongue in before pulling away. "We got all the time we need."

He felt Cas relax at that, and he took the opportunity to pull the angel against him. Cas was lean, all hard muscle and sinew, and heat shot down Dean's body at the feel of him. Now that he had this he had no idea why he'd waited so long for it.

"Still having issues with personal space?" Cas asked.

Dean chuckled, feeling Cas's smile against his mouth. "New policy: you can invade my personal space any time you want."

"Good."

Dean tried to keep their kisses slow, sensual, but it quickly turned hungry. He'd wanted this for far too long to have much patience now, and with the way Cas was licking into his mouth—like he fucking _owned _it—Dean's self restraint wasn't going to hold out for much longer.

Luckily Cas seemed to be on the same page, because he started pushing at Dean's red jacket. "Off," He mumbled, ducking his head to suck at the bolt of Dean's jaw.

"Tryin' angel," Dean responded, making no move to remove his hands from where they'd settled at Cas's hips. God, those hips. He'd have to make a point to worship those later. "Kinda hard when you're doing that."

"My apologies." Cas pulled away. Dean felt a growl work its way up his throat as Cas stepped out of his reach, but then Cas started shucking his clothes. Dean was onboard with that idea and started getting out of his own clothes, wincing at the tightness in his pants. Jesus, they'd only just kissed. He wasn't sure he'd survive the whole package.

Speaking of packages…

Dean moved forward the second Cas had his shirt off, mouth watering at the expanse of skin in front of him. Cas was still on the light side but a little tanner than Dean had envisioned, the muscles rippling just underneath the skin. Cas's pants were still on but judging by the bulge tenting the front of them, he was pretty well hung. Dean wanted to get his mouth on every inch of him.

The feeling of skin on skin nearly made him lose all control, and he barely resisted the urge to slam Cas against the wall and just fuck like rabbits. And hey, maybe they would do that for round three or four, but this was the first time and damn it, Cas wasn't just the latest lay. He was something more, something special, and had been for a long time now. Dean had messed up a lot of things in his life but sex he had always got right and he wasn't going to let it fail him now.

That sounded a little weird in his head but whatever.

Cas's skin was smooth, unbroken by scars or other marks—not even freckles—all ready for him to touch. Dean didn't know if it was because Cas was an angel or if Jimmy had just been phenomenally lucky in the skin department, and it really didn't matter. Dean let his hands roam wherever he pleased, touching every inch of Cas that he could reach. The feel of all that warm skin against his chest, under his fingertips, the muscles twitching in response to him—he was going to lose his damn mind. They kissed and kissed and kissed, just exploring in a way Purgatory hadn't afforded them, mapping out each other's mouths and just tasting, learning. Every time he kissed Cas was a little different, like a new present to open, and Dean couldn't get enough. He was drunk on it. He could feel Cas even through both of their pants and he pushed against him, growling low in his throat as Cas's legs opened, allowing Dean to slot his thigh in between them. They ground against each other, tiny sparks of electricity and want sparking everywhere they touched. Dean groaned as Cas rolled his hips harder, more insistent, and knew if he didn't move things along then they'd be over embarrassingly quickly.

He pulled away, knowing if he didn't now he wouldn't ever be able to, ignoring Cas's disappointed whine so that he could pull off the rest of his clothes and clamber onto the bed. He expected Cas to follow suit but when he looked back Cas was just staring at him, jaw slack and eyes so dark all that could be seen around the enlarged pupils was a ring of gunmetal grey. He looked like he wanted to fucking eat Dean alive.

"Cas?"

The angel slowly raked his eyes up Dean's body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. It was like Dean's skin was coming alive after centuries without air, tingling with sensation. Dean grinned, never able to resist a little tease. "You like what you see, Cas?"

The angel was on him in seconds, clothes vanishing through the power of angel mojo, pinning Dean onto the bed. The hunter keened as Cas pressed every inch of their bodies together, his hips rolling up to let their erections grind together. "Fuck, Cas, you can't just—"

Cas made a desperate noise, something between a growl and a whine, and briefly scraped his teeth along the column of Dean's throat before latching his lips against the pale skin and sucking. Dean grabbed Cas's shoulders, his nails digging in as he kept grinding up against Cas, letting them rut with abandon. He could come just like this, nothing else, with Cas just going to town on him. He'd never let himself be submissive since Hell for obvious reasons, but he could see himself letting Cas take control.

"Dean," Cas sounded like a phone sex operator every day but right now his voice sounded utterly _wrecked_. "Dean, please, I want you."

"How?" Dean asked, gripping tight onto Cas's hips. He had to know before the last of his self-control snapped.

"I want—I need you in me. I want you to fill me up." Cas had that puppy-dog look on his face again, the one he'd learned from Sam—as if Dean might turn down an offer like that.

Dean swallowed, trying to work his dry, tight throat. Where the hell had the angel learned to talk like that? "Yeah," He managed. "Yeah, that, let's do that."

Cas smiled radiantly, pleased as all fuck, and kissed Dean again. "We'll need supplies," Dean muttered in between one press of lips and the next.

"Right next to you," Cas told him.

Dean left one hand splayed across the small of Cas's back while the other groped around, finding the condom and lube next to him as Cas had said. Sneaky angels with their sneaky powers.

"Okay. Turn over. It'll be easier to prep you if you're lying down."

Cas nodded, and let Dean flip them so that Cas was on his back, looking up at Dean. His hair was an absolute mess, his eyes burning blue and his lips swollen red and slick. The angel was well on his way to looking wrecked, and Dean couldn't wait to see what he looked like when they finished.

"You trust me?" Dean asked, hovering over him. He wasn't going to do anything without Cas's permission.

Cas, the sassy bastard, cocked an eyebrow upwards. "Dean, I trust you with my life—with everything—but right now I'm starting to distrust your ability to get down to business."

Dean rolled his eyes but felt his lips curling upwards in spite of himself. "Snarky asshole," He muttered.

"Any snark I possess I learned from you, and my asshole is not getting nearly enough attention," Cas replied, and damn if that didn't make Dean choke on his own spit.

Dean kissed him, hard and fast, just to shut him up before moving downwards. Cas's chest was lean, almost skin and bone in places, and smooth as velvet. Dean flicked his tongue over a nipple, getting a tiny little whine from Cas in response. Grinning, he sealed his mouth over it and sucked. Cas speared his fingers in Dean's hair, gasping and grunting as Dean worked first one, then the other, pulling out all of the stops. He hadn't known this was an erogenous zone for guys as well as girls but hell if he wasn't going to exploit it.

"Dean," Cas panted. "Dean, please, need you—move _down_."

Dean just winked at him before biting gently at Cas's left nipple. The angel fucking keened, his back bowing as he tried to get friction against Dean with his hips. Smug smirk in place Dean trailed is mouth downwards, sucking and kissing along the happy trail until he got to those damned hips. He was going to spend his time on these.

He trailed just his tongue along the line of them, enjoying the shudder that Cas gave. They were so defined, jutting out from Cas's sides, and he couldn't help but taste. There were a few beads of sweat dotting the skin there and he lapped it up, all of it, tasting the salty-sweetness. He sank his teeth down, unable to resist, knowing he was leaving a mark and glad for it. Cas was _his_, and everyone was going to know it. Judging by the moan Cas gave, the angel approved. Dean lapped at the spot afterwards, soothing the sting and admiring his handiwork. That spot was definitely going to be purple by the next morning.

And then finally, finally he was in between Cas's legs. He dropped his head down a little lower, mouthing his way up Cas's thighs and ignoring the angel's growls of disapproval. Cas was by far the most vocal partner Dean had ever had, and he drank it up like it was the smoothest whiskey. He loved how responsive Cas was to every touch, holding nothing back physically or vocally.

"Dean," Cas growled, a hand tangling in Dean's hair as he tried to move Dean to where he needed him most.

"I'm getting to it, babe," Dean replied, stroking Cas's leg soothingly. "Gonna make it good for you, I promise."

He kissed the juncture of Cas's thigh before wrapping a hand around Cas's cock. It had been a long time—a very long time—but he wasn't ready to put anything in his mouth. Hell still lingered at the edges of his dreams some nights, and he needed a few good memories to replace them before doing that again. But it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the feel of Cas, hot and heavy in his hand, leaking precome and making the ride slick. Cas's hips trembled as he tried not to buck up into Dean's hand, the fingers in Dean's hair tightening with the force of Cas's attempt at self-control.

Once his hand was good and slick, Dean slid his fingers down farther, rolling Cas's balls in his hand momentarily before circling his thumb around his tight hole. He kept rimming it with his thumb, only slipping the tip in while he slicked his other hand up with the lube. Never let it be said that Dean Winchester couldn't multitask.

"You're gonna have to relax, okay?" He instructed. "If it hurts you gotta let me know."

Cas nodded impatiently, the hand in Dean's hair urging him forward. He should've known Cas would be impatient.

Taking a deep breath, Dean carefully slid the first finger in. He went as slowly as he could, waiting until he was in to his knuckle to move. Cas was tight, even tighter than he'd imagined (and he'd imagined plenty). He kept it slow, drawing almost all the way out before moving back in. After a couple of minutes he was able to move the finger with more ease, moving it in and out almost to the tune of Cas's heaving breaths. When Cas was looser and he felt he could do it without hurting him, Dean added a second finger. He had to wait another minute before speeding up the pace, but then if he went in all the way and crooked his fingers up just like so—

Cas let out a sound that couldn't have possibly been human, arching up and pressing back against Dean's fingers. Dean glanced up in time to see Cas's eyes go wide, his mouth falling open as he gasped.

"That feel good, angel?" He asked, doing it again.

Cas cried out, his hips twitching helplessly. "Yes, Dean, right there, please—"

Dean couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, and he slipped in a third finger. Cas got a lot more participatory after that, practically fucking himself down onto Dean's fingers as Dean dragged the pads of them against Cas's prostrate. His cock was leaking steadily now, smearing a bit across Dean's cheek, and he figured that Cas was as ready as he ever could be.

Dean withdrew his fingers, earning him a whine from Cas, and sat back on his knees. He grabbed the condom, ready to rip it open, when Cas suddenly sat up, his hand wrapping around Dean's wrist. Dean looked up, startled, wondering what had gone wrong. Cas didn't look like he wanted to stop things, but the fingers around Dean's wrist were tight and unyielding.

"Are you clean?" Cas asked.

"I—yes?" Dean replied. He'd always made a point to take care of things and he'd never gotten anything. "I assume you are?"

Cas nodded. "Jimmy didn't have anything, and this body is incapable of getting ill as long as I am occupying it." His gaze flickered down to Dean's cock, hard and expectant against his stomach, beads of precome dripping and sliding down the base of it. Cas licked his lips, like he just couldn't wait to taste, and Dean almost couldn't breathe. "Then I don't see any reason for this."

Dean glanced down at the condom in his hand, his mouth dry as cotton. "But—Cas—are you sure?"

Cas nodded. "I'm not going to do this with anyone else, Dean. Are you?"

Dean shook his head. "No. No, it's just you, Cas. It's just gonna be you."

_It's always been you_, his brain added unhelpfully.

Cas gave him a wide smile and kissed him before lying back down on the bed. Heart hammering in his throat, Dean discarded the condom and took himself in hand. Cas spread his legs and Dean almost had a heart attack from the sight of it alone.

"You good?" He asked.

Cas honest-to-God rolled his eyes. "Dean, do I need to do this myself?"

Dean barked out a laugh, but he took the hint and lined himself up.

Entering Cas was a losing battle for self-control. He was tight and hot, clenching instinctively around Dean, and Dean's eyes nearly rolled back into his head. It took everything in him not to slam into Cas and just fuck him senseless.

It really didn't help when Cas did things like hum in approval and grind down on Dean's cock. A choked noise escaped him and his entire body trembled with the strain of holding back. Cas propped himself up on his elbows, nuzzling along Dean's neck until his mouth was at Dean's ear.

"I'm not going to break," He whispered. "I want you to fuck me, Dean. Please."

That was it. The coil snapped and Dean was gone.

He drove into Cas, barely managing to keep up a steady rhythm, going in as deep as he could before pulling back out. Cas's hands were everywhere, roaming his back, shoulders and chest, adding another layer of sensation. Dean turned his head and caught Cas's mouth with his own, fucking his tongue in and out of the angel's mouth, mimicking the movement of his hips. For a long time the only sounds that could be heard were Dean's labored breathing, Cas's sensuous moans, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Fuck, he wasn't going to last long. Cas was so tight and hot, like fire and velvet somehow combined, and he smelled fucking amazing and the slick feel of skin was all around him, adding to the feel of being inside of Cas, finally with Cas in every way possible, and the angel was still making those fucking noises and screaming his name and fuck, fuck, he was going to go before Cas if they kept this up and that just wasn't going to happen, he had to—

Dean wrapped a hand around Cas, pulling out all the stops. Cas made a high-pitched noise that Dean couldn't describe but sounded fucking amazing and clenched tight around Dean, and that was it. Show's over, folks, goodnight and good fucking luck. It was better than anything he'd ever had, and it sounded fucking cliché but he hadn't blown his load this hard since his first time at age sixteen and he knew for a fact that Cas had now ruined him for anyone else. Somehow his hand managed to keep moving—or maybe his orgasm had triggered Cas's—because Cas came only a few seconds afterwards, splattering both of their chests with white ropes of come.

Dean collapsed on top of Cas, grateful that the angel didn't have to breath because he wasn't sure he'd be able to move for another century at least. Cas had this beautiful dazed look on his face, like he'd been shown the stars for the first time, and Dean just had to tilt his head off and kiss that stupid gaping mouth until Cas was melting against him all over again.

"You okay?" He asked, just to be certain.

Cas rubbed a hand over Dean's back and he felt a slight sting, realizing belatedly that Cas had scratched him up when he'd come. "I am considerably better than 'okay'," Cas replied. "That was…" He searched for words for a minute before evidently giving up. "I would like to do that again, soon."

Dean grinned. "Babe, we can do that as much as you'd like."

And then he kissed him again, just because he could.

* * *

Dinner was boisterous, to say the least.

"Pass the potatoes!"

"Kevin Tran I don't care how old you are you will eat those green beans—"

"So it turned out to be a wraith, of all things, and I tell the rookie—"

"It was the most disgusting thing! I mean I knew from the books that you had to decapitate a vampire but actually doing it was something else, but Garth was just so understanding and talked me though it."

"Wait, so there's a _book series_?"

"You guys have got to get better coverage out here. If you give me just two days I can set this whole thing up and make it digital."

Sam watched everyone around the table, chatting and sharing food. Garth was regaling them all with hunting tales, Kevin was talking about his college applications and asking questions of everyone, Linda was mothering everybody while Becky chattered on about hunting and Chuck's books to a fascinated Amelia, and Charlie just hopped from topic to topic like a particularly rambunctious butterfly. Riot kept making happy noises and laying his head on people's laps, his tail wagging hard enough to fall off—he had a special attraction to Adam, who would scratch behind the dog's ears and feed him scraps of barbeque when he thought nobody was looking. Adam was being on the quiet side, but he ate heartily and seemed content to just listen. He and Kevin even got into a discussion on colleges at one point.

Amelia turned her head to look at Sam and smiled, gently elbowing him. "What's got you all smiley?" She asked.

Sam realized that he was, indeed, grinning ear to ear. "Nothing." He nudged her back, fondly. "I'm just happy."

Amelia searched his face in search of a lie but, finding none, smiled widely and turned back to the others.

Thing was, Sam thought as he helped clean up, he really was happy. He missed Dean, but he was actively missing him instead of just feeling numb like some kind of dulled knife. He could even spend time thinking about Dean now, instead of just pretending his brother didn't even exist. And yes, they were getting back into hunting, which wasn't exactly part of the plan, but he had a family again. They were going into this together. Dean had always been able to be happy with what they had instead of focusing on what they didn't, and while Sam had always found his insistence on seeing the good in things to be irritating, he had to admit that his own glass-half-empty outlook wasn't making things any easier. Maybe it was time to take a page out of his brother's book, focus on the positive. They were all together, they were going into this with their eyes open, they trusted each other, and they were happy.

Becky and Linda both retired to bed soon after dinner. Linda had nothing to do with the hunting aspect of their lives, preferring to play mother hen, and Becky's pregnancy was simply too exhausting. She'd even taken to calling the fetus "the velociraptor" or "the jerk baby" and proclaiming that it was going to burst out of her stomach like in _Alien_. She said these things with a dramatic roll of her eyes and much vehemence, but whenever she thought nobody was looking she would smile down at her rounded belly, her eyes lit up with joy. Sam caught Amelia looking at Becky, her flashing dark eyes softened as she gazed on the pregnant woman, and he grabbed her hand. Amelia looked at him, surprised, but smiled when he squeezed her hand. Not now, but someday.

Garth had wanted to get involved in the new hunt with the Men of Letters and the Gates, but Sam put his foot down. Kevin, Charlie, Adam, Amelia and himself were already involved in this. If Garth went down too there'd be nobody to pass on the information, nobody to prepare new hunters. The hunting community had taken a huge blow from the Apocalypse, Crowley, Eve and the Alphas, and the Leviathan, and Garth was now one of the most senior hunters out there (which would have made Dean shudder with horror but, oh well). The hunting community needed him—and actually liked and trusted him. There were still hunters that gave Sam the side-eye and after the whole Campbell disaster everyone knew that the Winchester family was one to be avoided. Sam couldn't really blame them.

Still, Garth needed to be in the loop, so he sat in when Sam, Amelia, and Charlie discussed the Men of Letters. Kevin sat at the cleared dining table, trying to translate the demon tablet further. Adam sat across from him, reading up on hunting (including John Winchester's journal) and occasionally peering at Kevin's notes.

"What have you found about the Men of Letters since we got into the bunker?" Sam asked.

Charlie made a frustrated gesture, her hand waving in the air. "It's annoyingly complicated. Their system of filing is all paper—which makes sense because they were destroyed in the '50s—and that would be bad enough but their methods of cataloguing are some of the most haphazard I've ever seen. I mean by Vulcan—"

Amelia made a move to say something, her eyebrows raised incredulously, but Sam squeezed her knee and she sank back into the couch. It was best not to question Charlie's references.

"—and it hasn't been touched for over sixty years so some of it is outdated. Not all of it, I mean, djinn haven't found a new way to kill people in the past twenty years or whatever but some information has to be updated and some has to be added in or supplemented," Charlie finished.

"How long do you think it will take?" Sam asked.

Charlie scrolled through her laptop. "When we were at the bunker I did a quick inventory. It's preliminary so I'll definitely need to go back again to get a bigger picture, but…" She punched a few more computer keys. "Okay, so I'm thinking that organization of existing information should take about a month, if I have a team working with me."

"We can help with that," Garth replied.

"I told you," Sam interjected. "I want as few lives at stake as possible."

"And our lives won't be at stake," Garth said. "We'll be safe at the bunker. You yourself said that it's fortified against any supernatural attack, and nobody knows we're there except for the people in this house."

"I'll help," Kevin interjected. "It's too late to apply for a summer internship, and it'll keep me occupied before school starts."

Sam looked back over his shoulder. "You applied?" He asked.

"I'm going to tomorrow," Kevin answered. "I'll start in the spring semester instead of the fall. If I take some summer courses next year I'll be able to graduate on time, and my AP courses should count for something."

Sam looked over at Adam, who looked both proud and sheepish. Sam had no doubt that Adam had helped Kevin come up with the plan. "Sounds good to me," Sam said.

Kevin and Adam grinned at each other and went back to their studies.

"Between Garth, Kevin and I," Charlie said, "We should get it done shortly. After organization we'll have to start an electronic database with basic information and location of items. That will be mostly me, maybe a little Kevin, and will only take about a week. The hardest part will be physically organizing and listing everything."

"My mom'll help," Kevin added.

"Becky will help too, while she can," Garth said. "Is there a hospital nearby?"

"There's a town not too far away, but it just has a clinic," Charlie supplied, typing away. "You'd have to go to the county hospital. But we should be finished by the time she's due anyway. She's only five months in."

"So it's settled." Garth smiled. "Charlie, Becky, the Trans and I will go and sort out the bunker. We could even make it so other hunters have access to the knowledge, right?"

Charlie's eyes lit up at the idea. "Of course! An international database! Hunters could communicate with one another, I could assign hunts based on proximity… you know it's about time you guys got with the digital age." She was literally bouncing up and down in her seat. "This will be great!"

Sam was momentarily reminded of Jo—only Charlie's enthusiasm was not nearly as guarded—and thought that it was probably about time the hunting world got a new Ellen, someone to keep them all in line and organized. If Charlie could make Dean her handmaiden and commandeer a huge festival of geeks (not to mention outsmart Dick Roman) then she could certainly handle some rough-around-the-edges hunters.

"Meanwhile Sam and I will help Adam with the trials," Amelia said, her lips pressing together as she thought it over. "Sounds like a solid plan to me. Sam?"

"Sure." It actually sounded pretty good, and having access to the wealth of knowledge the Men of Letters seemed to possess would be helpful. "Just be careful in there. We still don't know all of what this society got up to, and I know they're the good guys but that doesn't mean there isn't dangerous stuff in there."

"We know," Charlie said, waving away his concerns.

"I got it!" Kevin shouted as he jumped up from the table. He immediately clutched at his head. "Ugh. I might have to—"

The rest of his sentence was lost as he dashed to the bathroom, and the distinctive sounds of retching could be heard.

"Sounds like Becky in her first trimester," Garth remarked.

"He kept saying it was making his head hurt," Adam said. "I think staring at it for too long is like staring into the sun or something."

There was the sound of the toilet flushing, and Kevin emerged on shaky legs. "I'm good," He said as everyone stood to help him. "Heavenly text in a human brain is a little hard to digest." He sat down heavily, accepting Charlie's offered water glass.

"What did you find out?" Sam asked.

Kevin took a sip. "I figured out the first trial. There's still some stuff in the beginning that I don't have fully translated, but it's mostly just the warning stuff that I told you about."

"Yeah the ripping out the spine and all," Sam said.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, that. And the prophecy's all translated so I figure whatever it is can't be too important. I moved onto what the actual trials are, and the first one is," Kevin looked around. Adam, sensing his need, grabbed Kevin's notes and handed them to him. Kevin read from the notes. "Killing a hellhound and bathing in its blood."

Everybody stared.

"What the _what_ now?" Charlie said.

Sam couldn't have put it better himself.

* * *

It was the knocking that woke Dean up.

He blinked, slowly taking in his surroundings. There was a warm, satisfying weight against his side and chest, and the sunlight filtering in through the motel window was pleasant instead of blinding. He swiveled his head to see what the weight pressed against him was and immediately got a mouthful of dark hair. Propping himself up on his elbow and tilting his chin down, he was able to see that the weight and the hair belonged to one sleeping angel of the Lord.

Castiel was half on, half off of Dean, his head tucked underneath Dean's chin and his arms doing their best to imitate an octopus as they wrapped themselves around him. Their legs were tangled together, and he could feel Cas's body rise and fall as Dean took in breaths. Cas was breathing too, deep and evenly, his vessel reverting back to its preprogrammed biology in sleep. Once, in Purgatory, Cas had admitted that he'd liked the idea of breathing and had allowed his vessel to do so. This was back during the Apocalypse. When his superiors found out, he'd been severely punished. Dean had never found out exactly what that punishment was, but from the look in Cas's eyes he knew it was bad.

And they claimed there was no pain in Heaven.

Now Cas's eyes were hidden beneath his closed lids, the lines of his face smoothed out and softened by his rest. His hair stuck up in all directions and his lips still looked a little swollen. A hot thrill of pleasure ran through Dean as he realized that Cas hadn't healed himself of the hickeys that Dean had given him, letting the bruises stand out against his skin.

In the light of day, Dean was seeing a whole host of things he hadn't noticed in the frenzy and pleasure haze of last night. He'd seen and felt how lean Cas's body was but now he could see the taut muscles, observe the lithe body and delicate hands with their long fingers. This was a body that belonged to a runner or swimmer. And those fine, jutting hips were just fucking criminal. Dean saw the bite mark he'd left there, now purpling, and grinned. Yeah. Last night had been pretty damn epic.

And then the knocking came again.

Dean swiveled his head towards the door, realizing that was the sound that had woken him from sleep. He glanced at the clock. 10:00 a.m.

Carefully sliding out of bed, Dean groped for his pants and slid them on. He picked up his gun, tucking it into the small of his back, and quietly opened the door.

A teenage boy stood there, wearing an outfit from a fast food joint called Weiner Hut. Dean stifled any jokes and tried to remember if they'd ordered food last night.

"Are you Dean Winchester?" The kid asked.

Okay. That sealed it. Even if he had ordered food, there was no way he'd have used his real name.

"Sorry bud. Wrong room."

Dean went to close the door but the teen shot his arm out, stopping Dean. Kid was surprisingly strong. "Wait! Please. I need to speak to Castiel."

Dean paused. On the one hand, this guy obviously knew too much. On the other hand, he wasn't trying to force his way in. He'd even said _please_.

Dean opened the door again. "Why?"

"It's urgent." The teen glanced around furtively. "Please. They'll know I'm gone any second now."

Wondering if he was going to regret it, Dean opened the door and let the kid in. The sound of the door closing woke Cas, who stirred in the bed and muttered something unintelligible. From his tone of voice, he wasn't happy about waking up. Dean grinned. For some reason the idea of Cas being averse to mornings seemed to fit the guy perfectly.

"Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty," Dean said. "And put some pants on. We got a visitor."

Cas lowered his chin and narrowed his eyes in his classic smite face. Fortunately for Dean looks couldn't kill, so he just tilted his head in the direction of the teen. Poor kid was shuffling from foot to foot, gazing at the ground in embarrassment or nervousness. Cas's eyes followed Dean's movement and when he saw the teenager, his eyes widened.

In a blink Cas was standing in his usual attire, his face smooth and unreadable. Dean had a fleeting image of Cas back when they'd first started interacting—the unflappable, emotionless soldier. At least now he could tell it was Cas playing a part, being who he needed to be. The angel still had hickeys underneath that pristine dress shirt and his hair hadn't changed a bit. And that damn tie was still backwards. Dean's fingers twitched and he itched to fix it, to brush his fingers against the skin at Cas's throat, maybe steal a kiss while he was at it, but this wasn't the time.

"Samandriel," Castiel said.

"Castiel," The teen—angel—replied, standing up straight like a soldier at attention. "It's an honor to meet you in person, sir."

Castiel looked a bit flummoxed at that. "Thank you."

"Okay, debrief," Dean said. "Who are you?"

"This is Samandriel, one of the youngest angels," Castiel explained. "He was one of the few angels made after Lucifer fell. Inias was another." Castiel turned again to Samandriel. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to warn you," Samandriel said. "It's about Naomi." He fidgeted and glanced over at Dean. Castiel looked at Dean too, and Dean could see the lines around his eyes soften slightly.

"Anything you say to me can be said in front of Dean," Castiel said.

Samandriel nodded. "Yes. Okay. So, um, after the Leviathan thing, when you vanished—everything was in chaos. Gabriel's entire garrison—your garrison—was gone, plus Lucifer's garrison that had fallen with him, which meant the Host was cut in half. We were weak, without a leader—all of the archangels gone—we had no idea what to do and," Samandriel paused, taking a deep breath. "Without you to show us the way, to teach us how to have free will, we didn't know what to do. We'd been soldiers for so long and, and we just—and Naomi, she took over. She didn't believe in free will but she knew that we just wanted to feel safe again. We wanted a purpose, someone to tell us what to do and who to be. We traded freedom for security. All we wanted was for things to get back to the way they were, to have order and purpose again.

"And at first she gave that to us. We were happy. We felt like we were growing strong again, ready to be the Host of Heaven once more, the angels of Bible, the warriors of God." Samandriel's face was lit from the inside, his Grace thrumming as he showed the depths of his joy. His face was lifted and his eyes looked over Castiel's head, towards the sky. He seemed to be picturing the glory of the Host in times of yore, a far-off glint in his eyes. But then his smile shrank and his head lowered—in fact, his entire body seemed to shrink into itself. His eyes became downcast.

"But then things started changing. Angels would go in to speak to Naomi and come out… different. Whenever one of us did something outside of orders, whenever we acted as anything other than machines—it was like we were drones again. It was worse than under Michael. And I mean, none of us really had it that bad under Michael, or at least we didn't think we did, but this was—I still have a hard time explaining it. She got to me, too. I've been under her control for… I'm not sure, but long enough. It's like she reprograms you. Puts you back to factory settings. You do whatever she tells you to and half the time you can't even remember her telling you to do it."

"Sounds like Big Brother," Dean commented.

The two angels sent him identical head tilts, and Dean felt a little unnerved. Anyone in doubt of angels' relationships to each other just had to see those head tilts to have their doubts stripped away.

"I don't get that reference," Cas noted.

"You will," Dean assured him. Soon as they dealt with this mess he was getting Cas a proper culture education. Starting with Vonnegut.

"How did you get away?" Castiel asked.

"Breaking the mind control is… difficult. But I managed it. It helps if you haven an emotional connection to something. That emotional connection underlies whatever mental hardwiring she did." Samandriel gestured toward himself. "Alfie here's my vessel, and I know talking with vessels isn't really the protocol—"

"It's all right. I had many talks with Jimmy, my vessel, before he departed," Castiel replied. Dean was surprised. He'd suspected that Jimmy Novak had passed on some time ago—definitely after his body disintegrated into the reservoir—but he hadn't known that Castiel had a personal relationship with his vessel.

Samandriel seemed reassured. "Alfie and I, we became close. He's a good kid, really. Seventeen, works hard, siblings—he's my friend. I know we don't do that sort of thing but he is my friend, really. And he got me out of Naomi's programming. If it weren't for him I'd still be stuck on her settings."

"That's wonderful," Cas said, sounding like it actually was the most wonderful news he'd ever heard. He might have been awkward in literally every social situation but Cas's ability to empathize and make a person feel special was top notch. Dean found himself smiling and had to school his features back into a serious expression.

"But we don't have a lot of time," Samandriel went on. "She's sent people after you, Castiel. They're on their way right now."

* * *

"How are we supposed to kill a hellhound?" Sam asked.

"What's a hellhound?" Amelia asked.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't sound good," Adam muttered.

Charlie was all over it. "I've been reading up on this!" She said. "When a person dies, they're visited by a Reaper. Reapers are neutral—neither good nor bad—and serve Death, who is the ultimate Reaper and also neutral. They take you to Heaven or Hell. But, if you make a deal with a Crossroad Demon—"

"Wait, a what?" Adam asked.

"Crossroad Demons show up at a crossroad," Sam explained, "When they're summoned. They're the demons that you sell your soul to. Usually they give you ten years, although sometimes it's less." He remembered when Dean had sold his soul for his little brother's life, being granted only a year in return. He could hardly believe that nowadays, trying to find a way out of a crossroad deal sounded like an easy task. Things had been a lot simpler back then.

"When your time is up, the hellhounds come to collect." Charlie sounded far too enthusiastic about this. "They chase you down and tear you to pieces, dragging your soul to Hell."

"How are we going to find one, then?" Amelia asked.

"We have to find someone who's made a deal," Sam said. At least this part was simple enough. "We hang around them until the hellhounds come."

"But you can't see hellhounds," Charlie interjected. "They're invisible to everyone except for the condemned."

"That's helpful," Amelia muttered.

The doomed soul could also see the true face of demons. Sam had never thought to ask Dean what hellhounds or demons looked like. Maybe he should have.

"There's got to be something about it in the tablet," Kevin said. "I'll take a look."

"In the morning," Sam said. "You need some sleep." The kid looked like he was going to pass out any second.

"No, really I can handle—"

The collective glares of Sam, Charlie, Amelia and Garth were enough to convince Kevin otherwise. "Okay. Bed. Right." The prophet scurried up to his room.

"We'll worry about actually seeing the hound when the time comes," Sam said. "First we have to actually find someone who made a deal that's almost up."

"But how can you tell if someone's made a deal?" Charlie asked.

"Just look for something that shouldn't have happened that did," Garth answered.

Sam nodded. "The popular girl who married the nerdy kid next door, the doctor who got to be in charge of a hospital twenty years too early, the lawyer who wins every case. Basically somebody who became successful in some way, a way that defies logic."

"I sup—"

A violent crashing sound filled the house as all of the windows were blown in. Charlie covered her ears and Adam dove under the table with a shout of surprise. Sam instinctively covered Amelia, who grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and buried her head into his chest.

"What the hell?" Kevin shouted, stumbling down the stairs and clinging to the banister.

The windows kept breaking, and there was a fierce howling like a wind during a thunderstorm. It continued for a few minutes as Sam struggled to see without getting hit by flying glass, trying to find the source of the attack. And then, as suddenly as it began, all fell silent. The glass from the windows fell to the floor like frozen raindrops, the air deathly still. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of everyone's labored breathing. Sam looked around, checking for damage. Charlie looked like she had some minor cuts on her hands and arms, but nothing too bad. Adam was surprisingly safe under the table, although he looked close to terrified. Kevin had the banister in a death grip, the paleness of his face making the circles under his eyes stand out. Garth had his gun in one hand and was looking around just like Sam, assessing the damage. Amelia was safe in Sam's arms, shaking a little but otherwise unharmed.

"What the hell was that?" Adam asked.

An almighty scream filled the room.

Garth shot up. "Becky!" He shouted, tearing upstairs.

Sam grabbed Ruby's knife, tossing his gun to Charlie who caught it instinctually. "Amelia, Adam, get your guns out. Make a circle of salt and stay in it!"

As he ran up the stairs, Kevin barreling ahead of him, he could see Charlie laying the salt out. Good. At least those three were safe.

When Sam got upstairs, it was a very different story.

His longer legs allowed him to catch up to Kevin, so they entered the room at the same time, nearly running into a frozen Garth. Sam peered over the man's head and understood why he wasn't moving.

Becky was pinned up against the wall, held by an invisible force, her face screwed up in fear. She was wearing a nightgown, her blonde hair disheveled, and Sam was hit with her resemblance to Mary. It was like being doused in cold water. Becky was struggling, trying to break free of the supernatural hold, but she remained pinned. As if that weren't enough, on the floor at her feet was a twisted body. Blood pooled out from underneath it, dark hair covering the face, but Sam knew who it was.

"Mom?" Kevin asked, his voice wavering. He sounded like a small child. "M-mom?"

"Oh dear. Was she someone's mother?" The voice that spoke was deep and sultry, a smile in its tone. "Reminds of that song… something about web-footed friends. Oh, well."

Sam turned his head and saw who was holding Becky pinned. A tall redheaded woman stood in the center of the room, a carnivorous smile on her lips. She had a wide face and eyes that burned bright, like there was a fire inside of them. She wore a black leather jacket, a shirt that said _The Devil Made Me Do It_, tight jeans and high-heeled boots.

"Looks like the gang's all here!" She said.

"Abaddon," Sam guessed.

"I see my reputation precedes me," The demon replied. "Good." She walked over to Becky, who recoiled in terror.

"Don't," Garth growled, his voice surprisingly low and threatening.

"But it'll be such fun!" Abaddon replied, her smile wide and snakelike. "Unless, of course, you give me the key to the Men of Letters bunker."

"Not a chance," Sam replied.

"Pity." Abaddon shrugged. "I hope you told your wife you love her."

Garth made an inarticulate sound of pain, but before anyone could move Kevin lunged forward, covering Abaddon from head to foot with sticky liquid. "What the—" The demon spluttered.

Kevin lit a match on his jeans and threw it, setting Abaddon on fire. "That's holy oil, bitch!" He shouted.

Well, the kid wasn't a prophet of the Lord for nothing.

Abaddon screamed as she was engulfed in the flames, turning into a column of smoke and funneling out the broken window into the night.

"Quick thinking Kev," Sam said, clapping the teen on the back.

Becky dropped to the floor, no longer held up by Abaddon's powers, and burst into tears. Garth was at her side in an instant, holding her tightly.

"I'm so sorry," She wailed. "I went to get the gun like you taught me but she knew there was a Devil's Trap under the rug, and Linda sprayed her with holy water but it wasn't enough and—and—Linda wasn't even in the room when it started! She was just trying to protect me, and that _thing_ just—" Becky's sobs overtook her and she cried noisily, clutching at her husband.

Sam bent down and carefully turned over the body. It was Linda Tran all right. He wasn't sure exactly how she died, seeing as her mouth and throat were all covered with blood, but he had a few guesses. Whatever Abaddon had done, it was undoubtedly a painful death.

He looked up at Kevin, who stared at his mother's body. "I'm sorry, Kevin."

Kevin just made a small nod. "We'll—we'll have to burn her, right? That's how it's done?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. That's how it's done."

Like all those who gave their lives for the cause, Linda Tran would get a hunter's funeral.

* * *

"Why?" Castiel asked. "What does she want from me?"

"You're Castiel," Samandriel said, as if this was all the explanation needed. "You're legendary. You pulled the Righteous Man out of Hell when nobody else could, you were always the best warrior in your garrison, you defied Michael and Raphael and stopped the Apocalypse—you're our leader. We believed in what you told us. If you come back, Naomi's rule is threatened."

"I don't want to rule anyone," Castiel protested. "I tried that once and it didn't work out very well. The point is for angels to rule themselves, to be as we once were. Servants to humanity and examples of God."

"Naomi thinks that we've become corrupted by human emotions and ideas," Samandriel said. "You're an example of what we shouldn't be. If she can kill you then nobody can oppose her."

"Question is," Dean said, stepping forward, "How did they get a lock on our location in Purgatory?"

"Purgatory hasn't been properly sealed since I opened it," Cas said, his voice low. Samandriel probably couldn't see it, but Dean could tell it hurt for Cas to remember the wrongs he'd committed. "We'll have to make sure that we take care of that after we deal with Heaven."

"Heaven?" Samandriel seemed torn between fear and hope. "What are your plans?"

Castiel looked back at the angel, and it looked to Dean like an invisible weight had settled on Cas's shoulders. At least this time, Cas wouldn't have to bear that weight alone. Dean would help him to shoulder it. "We plan on closing the Gates of Heaven," Castiel explained.

Samandriel's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but then a distinctive cracking sound filled the room. Dean spun around.

The door was kicked down, revealing a group of angels, their blades drawn.

"Son of a bitch," Dean said.

* * *

They burned her as soon as they could get a proper pyre set up, dawn just creeping over the edges of the horizon as they set the wood ablaze. Soon Linda's body couldn't even be seen through the heat and light of the dancing flames, smoke curling up into the air.

Usually hunter's funerals were quiet affairs. The body was burned as the mourners watched, and then left. But most of them had gotten to know Linda well, and going without saying anything didn't seem right.

Becky spoke first.

"Linda was always very fierce," she said. "Forget demons—Linda was the scariest thing I'd ever seen when she was angry. But she was so kind, too. This pregnancy hasn't been easy. The morning sickness alone—well, you all saw how that went. But she was always there, encouraging me, listening to me complain, taking me to the doctor. She cooked us dinner half the time, and when Garth was out on a hunt she held down the fort." Becky chewed on her lip. "My parents and I, we were really close. But when I was fifteen they died in an accident and, well, I didn't have a lot of friends so I went online. Fanfiction and the fandom community were my safe place for a long time. I know I've told Garth and Charlie that having them, being loved for who I am, that's been great. And I mean that. But Linda was like having—she was like having a mom again."

A few tears rolled down her cheeks, but she kept going. "I just hope that, that when the baby comes, I can be half as good as Linda was to me—to Kevin—to all of us. A-and if it's a girl, we're going to name her Linda." Becky sniffed and gave a watery smile. "They say the spirit kind of lives on, that way."

Garth was next, and he gave a rather off-kilter and awkward but strangely touching speech, one that could only have come from, well, Garth. Charlie talked about how she'd gotten scared at a sleepover, calling her parents to come and pick her up. On the way back they'd been hit by a drunk driver, killing her father instantly and putting her mother in a coma.

"I still visit her, sometimes," Charlie explained. "But it's not… it's not the same. And Linda…" Charlie seemed unable to speak after that, and walked over to Becky, who enveloped her in a hug.

Adam talked about his mother, and what it was like to lose someone. Especially, he said, someone like a mother, who raised you and cared for you. "Even when everything else is going to shit," he said, "You know that you have her. Until you don't." He shrugged. "It's not ever going to go away. The pain, I mean. But after a while it gets manageable. It's like a scar, you know? The scar's always there, but it doesn't hurt after a bit. And sometimes you can even talk about it, tell about how you got it, and think back on it. Because there's good stuff in there too, good things that she'd want you to remember. That's the thing about moms they… they want their kids to be happy. She'd want all of us—especially Kevin—to be happy. I'm not saying it'll be better right now or that you have to pretend you're okay but someday—someday you will be. And that's what she wants."

Sam was next. He didn't know Linda as well as he would have liked to (which was why Amelia wasn't saying anything), but he was kind of an expert on losing someone you cared about.

"The thing about family," he said, "Is that it isn't about blood. There's that old saying that blood is thicker than water, but it's actually a quote. It says that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. So it actually means the opposite of what we think it does. It's saying that the promises we make and the ties we create between people are more important than who we came from. A lot of the time we have family members that we don't like or don't get along with, and so we make new families out of people we meet and choose to spend time with.

"But when we have a family that we're born to, a family that not only are we connected to by blood but by love—that's special. Not everybody has that. And you had that, Kevin. So don't ever let it make you angry. Don't ever poison it with hate or revenge. And even though… even though your blood family can't be there for you anymore, we are. And we always will be."

Kevin was last.

"I want to thank you all," he began. "I know that Mom would have loved to have heard that from you guys. She really liked you all. I know she didn't always say it or show it but she did."

He paused, as if gathering words. "My dad passed away when I was three from colon cancer. I don't really remember him, but my mom always talked about him—tried to keep him alive for me through memories. She said that way he wouldn't be just some figure to me. He'd still be a part of me.

"My mom had to work a lot, to put me through school and all. She always knew I was smart and fought for me to get into AP programs and things. She worked hard and we didn't always have a lot but I knew she was there for me, no matter what. No matter what I've gone through, I've had her. She pushed me and was sometimes hard on me but she was always there at the end of the day, cooking me dinner and telling me stories and helping me with homework.

"It's—I'm—I can't even, say, really, what—but I'm glad you're all here. For all of my life it's been the two of us, and if it were still that way I wouldn't have anybody. I'm grateful to have you guys. It makes it a little easier."

Kevin got a quick hug from Sam and Garth and a "bro hug" from Adam, with a wet kiss on the cheek from Becky. Charlie just hugged him as they watched the flames grow, and grow, and grow, and then die away, sinking down into cold ash.

* * *

The angels filed into the room with disturbing organization, lining themselves up and blocking the door. Dean counted five, but there was no guarantee that there weren't more outside. The one in the middle appeared to be their leader. He was tall, though Dean figured Sam still had a good couple of inches on him. He had slicked back, strawberry blonde hair and eyes that were piercing but rather one-dimensional—lasers, but lacking in depth. Dean couldn't even have said what color they were. His overall demeanor gave the impression of an evil lawyer from a courtroom drama.

And then the guy opened his mouth and totally blew their expectations away.

"Castiel." His voice was warm, his smile apparently genuine. "It's been far too long, brother."

Dean snuck a glance at Cas, who also appeared pretty surprised by the greeting. "Bartholomew," Cas replied.

Bartholomew's smile didn't waver at Castiel's reticence. "I must admit, Castiel, we didn't expect to find you here. We were merely tracking Samandriel." Bartholomew sent a pitying glance towards the younger angel, who had shuffled over to hide behind Dean and Cas. Dean couldn't blame the guy—if he had five assassins after him, he'd take all the buffering he could get.

"I hope you haven't been listening to his lies," Bartholomew went on.

"Samandriel has behaved honorably," Castiel replied.

"Castiel." Bartholomew looked rather like he pitied Cas. Dean shifted his weight, hand drifting back towards his machete. In his experience, the people who pitied Cas didn't last long.

"Naomi has been searching for you for a long time," Bartholomew went on. "She was hoping that you could lead Heaven together."

"What if I'm not interesting in leading?" Castiel asked.

"We simply want you back in the fold," Bartholomew said—a pretty noncommittal answer if you asked Dean.

"Don't trust him, Castiel," Samandriel whispered.

"I would hold my tongue if I were you, traitor," Bartholomew snapped. "Castiel, please. Come with us. We don't want bloodshed."

"Who said anything about shedding blood?" Castiel replied.

Two of the angels branched off, taking a few steps towards Dean. It wasn't enough to actually reach him, but it sent a clear message. "We've heard you have a disturbing fondness for humanity," Bartholomew said. "Come with us, or the human suffers."

"I got a name, you know," Dean said.

"Don't do this," Bartholomew said, ignoring Dean entirely. "We fought together against Lucifer in Battle for Heaven. We were brothers once, and we can be that way again."

"You were on Raphael's side after the Apocalypse was prevented," Castiel pointed out.

"Water under the bridge," Bartholomew countered smoothly. "Come, Castiel. You can return to Heaven. You can restore it to its former glory. Don't make a needless sacrifice."

Dean looked over at Cas, certain the guy would tell Bartholomew off, but to his surprise Cas looked like he was wavering.

"Don't be an idiot, Cas," Dean said. "You can't be thinking of going with this son of a bitch."

Cas spoke to Dean, but his eyes didn't leave the angels. "If I don't, they'll kill you."

"We've had longer odds," Dean replied.

"Too much heart was always Castiel's problem," Samandriel noted.

"Very helpful, pizza boy," Dean barked.

"Alfie works for Weiner Hut—that's hotdogs, not pizza!" Samandriel replied, indignant.

"Castiel?" Bartholomew said. "It's your choice. Give us Samandriel and come with us, or watch Dean Winchester die."

"How about option three?" Dean asked. "You take that angel blade of yours and shove it up your—"

Everyone attacked at once. Bartholomew and Cas went at it in a fierce one-on-one battle that the other angels seemed hesitant to get involved in. Two went for Samandriel, and two went for Dean. Dean grabbed his machete just in time to prevent an angel blade from bearing down on him, giving the angel a front kick to send him sprawling. Next to him he heard a hoarse cry, turning in time to see Samandriel get stabbed in the stomach. Poor kid was a goner.

Castiel and Bartholomew were still locked in battle, but the other four angels were advancing on Dean. Shit.

And then they heard it.

Growling.

Everybody froze and pivoted towards the door. Dean couldn't see them, but he could imagine how they looked. Only one thing in the world could make that deep snarling growl—and judging by the chorus of growls, there were at least four of them.

Hellhounds.

"Well, what have we here," Someone drawled in a Scottish accent. Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Crowley."

The self-proclaimed King of Hell entered the doorway, smiling. "In the flesh." He looked at the angels. "I need one of you to deliver a message for me. To Naomi."

"You know her?" Bartholomew seemed as bemused as Dean felt. He was only just now hearing about this Naomi chick—hell, Cas seemed to know barely anything about her—and fucking _Crowley_ knew her? Figured.

Crowley looked at Bartholomew the way Dean imagined a nasty teacher did a rather stupid young child. "We go way back," He replied. "But alas, I only need one of you to deliver it, so…" Crowley grinned. "Sic 'em, girls."

The hellhounds leaped and Dean braced himself, ready to fight until the end, but the hellhounds only attacked the other four angels. Bartholomew moved to defend his brethren but it was too late—the hellhounds ripped out the angels' throats with grim efficiency.

"I can't credit old Lucy with much, but he did have a stroke of genius in hellhounds," Crowley said, inspecting his fingernails. "They were used a lot in the Battle for Heaven—you remember, Castiel? Hellhounds can kill anything." Crowley smiled up at them, then turned to Bartholomew and held out a piece of paper. "Be a good lad for me and take that to Naomi."

Bartholomew looked like he might put up a fight, thought better of it, and vanished. Crowley turned to Dean and Cas. "You two owe me," He said.

Crowley turned to go, hellhounds at his heels. "What the hell was that all about?" Dean asked.

Crowley looked at Dean over his shoulder and smiled. "Times are changing, boys. Better get moving or you'll fall by the wayside."

And then the King of Hell was gone too, leaving four dead bodies in his wake.

* * *

Sam sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, grateful for the warm arms that wrapped around him. "How's Kevin?" Amelia asked, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I'm not sure. Adam's with him right now." It would be good if the boys, so close in age, could be there for each other during the coming trials.

"How are you holding up?"

Sam turned, catching her lips for a kiss. "I'm not sure."

"Don't guilt-trip," Amelia said, catching his face in her hands. "Abaddon took out an entire secret society on her own. We were unprepared and you aren't superhuman. There's no need to beat yourself up for that."

"I know. It's just…" He paused, struggling to find the right words. "All of my life, grief meant guilt. You couldn't just mourn someone—you had to feel guilty that they died. My dad carried that guilt and he taught it to Dean and me, and it's—it's a hard habit to break."

"But you will break it." Amelia's smile was bright, even in the darkness of the unlit room. "You're stronger than your past."

Sam opened his mouth to say that he really hoped so, when his phone rang. "Kind of an odd time," He noted as he reached for it. The number was one he didn't recognize. "Hello?"

"Sammy?"

Sam's heart skidded to a stop before picking up double-time, banging against his ribcage like it was trying to break free. "Dean?"

He felt Amelia freeze in his arms. "Dean?" She whispered. "Your brother Dean?"

"Hey." Dean's voice was low and warm, like Sam remembered. "Man, it's good to hear you. How're you doing?"

"Dean… how did you—I mean, how are you even—where's Cas?" Sam finished, deciding on the safest question.

"Right here," Cas's voice was like gravel rubbed against sandpaper but it came through loud and clear. "How are you, Sam?"

"I'm—uh, I'm good. But how are you guys—"

"We don't really have time to talk," Dean cut him off. "We're not safe here. Is there any place we can meet you?"

Sam looked over at Amelia, who nodded. "Garth's houseboat. That's where we are."

"Garth? Really?" Sam could picture the incredulous look on Dean's face. "All right. We'll be there in the morning."

The call ended with a click and Sam stared at the device in his hand, his brain firing on every cylinder. Where were they? Were they all right? Why wasn't it safe? How were they even alive? Where had they gone? What had happened to Dick Roman? Was the Leviathan threat back?

"Is it him?"

All of Sam's questions fell away as he looked at Amelia, her face cautiously inquisitive. "Yeah. It's him. He's alive, and so is Cas."

Dean and Cas were alive.


	4. We'll Always Have Mesopotamia

**Interlude: Naomi and Crowley both have some explaining to do.**

* * *

Naomi pursed her lips as she read the latest report. Heaven had truly fallen into disarray in all the upheavals after the failed Apocalypse. She had never been strictly for or against the end of days, but she had followed orders as she had been created to do. It was when angels strayed from that purpose that disaster struck. She'd learned that first-hand.

Now, if only she could convince Castiel of that as well.

He'd always been a little different—a little on the compassionate side, with the faintest blush of feelings tainting his otherwise strict adherence to orders. She had often warned Michael that it would be best if she met with Castiel for some reprogramming, but he had always refrained. Castiel was legendary for his battle skills, said to be second only to the archangels, and he had led his garrison well after Gabriel's disappearance and Anael's fall. It was the reason he was chosen to rescue the Righteous Man. Naomi had felt that her angels were better suited for the purpose—spies, skilled in infiltration, not soldiers who slashed and hacked their way through any problem—but Castiel and Uriel had impressed her. They had done their task well.

But then Dean Winchester had turned Castiel. He had taken those seeds of doubt and emotion inside Castiel and given them the sunshine and rain they needed to grow. Those thoughts had festered to the point where he had helped to avert the Apocalypse and rebel against Michael, their leader. He had gone against their purpose, and when Raphael had tried to make things right, Castiel had gone against him as well. And what had he done when the last archangel was vanquished? He'd vanished.

It had taken her months to find out what had happened to him. Sucked into Purgatory, of all things—and from helping Dean Winchester!

Naomi shuddered to think that he was considered a role model for the others. What the lower ranking angels must be learning from his example…

"Commander."

Bartholomew was standing in the doorway, hesitating. Nobody entered Naomi's pristine white office without her permission, not even her protégé.

"You may enter."

Bartholomew stepped over the threshold, his shoulders stiff. "I must apologize, Naomi," he admitted. He didn't raise his eyes from the floor.

Naomi held in a sigh. Bartholomew was her best and brightest, and she did hate overconfidence, but he did tend to be a little hard on himself.

"What happened?"

"We were ambushed." Bartholomew looked as though he was still sorting out what had happened. "We had tracked down Samandriel and found Castiel through him, just as you predicted. We had them and Dean Winchester in our sights, but we were suddenly attacked."

"Cut to the chase, Bartholomew. By whom were you ambushed?"

Perhaps Castiel still had angels on his side. It had taken a lot of work—and a lot of reprogramming—to keep them in line. The last thing she needed was more rebelliousness.

"Hellhounds."

Naomi's train of thought came to a resounding halt. "What?"

"Hellhounds," Bartholomew repeated. "They were led by someone calling himself the King of Hell."

Naomi let her breath out slowly, trying not to let her temper flare up. After Lilith's death and Lucifer's return to the Cage there was no question as to who would take over.

"Crowley," Naomi answered.

Bartholomew appeared taken aback. "Yes."

Naomi planted her fists on her desk, remaining calm for the sake of appearances. She had to put on a good face for her inferiors to emulate. "He was in charge of all the Crossroad demons when Lilith was in charge, just as Alistair was in charge of the torture. The Winchesters eliminated every other lead demon. The field was wide open for Crowley to take control."

"He killed everyone," Bartholomew admitted. "He set the Hellhounds on us—we weren't prepared—"

"And yet here you stand."

"He let me live so that I could give you a message." Bartholomew handed her a small piece of paper. Naomi took it from him, examining the writing. It was old, symbols rather than proper letters, and from a language that hadn't been in use since Assyria became a force to be reckoned with. It named a time and location and was signed with a name she hadn't read, spoken or heard in over 3,000 years.

"Do you know what this is about?" Bartholomew asked.

Naomi crumpled the piece of paper in her hand. "He wants us to meet."

She began walking out of the office, heels clicking, when Bartholomew started stuttering. "But, but Commander—surely you aren't—you won't actually meet with him, will you?"

Naomi paused but didn't look back. "There are things at work you can't possibly comprehend."

She left her lieutenant standing in her office, metaphorically scratching his head in bewilderment.

* * *

The Father had always been there. Before time or life or death existed, when not even the formless void was in place, He was there.

His first creation was Eve, Mother of All, from who sprung the Leviathan and, over time, all other manner of supernatural creature.

His second creations were the angels, the first being Michael and the last being Castiel. When the Morningstar fell and changed from Lucifer to Satan and created the demons, the Father created more angels to combat them. Among these were Samandriel and Inias.

His third creations, which came after the angels but before the demons, were the High Nephilim. They were different from angels, having specific powers suited to the individual, and they were in many ways the blueprints for humanity. But they were drunk on their power and broke away from their Father, fancying themselves greater than He.

His fourth creations, those that became the reason for Lucifer's fall, were humans. In these the Father created something He had never before done—He had created the soul. The Father viewed humanity as His greatest creation, but like all true greatness, they held the potential to be the worst.

While the battle in Heaven raged on between the angels and the demons, the High Nephilim took to calling themselves gods, and held humanity in their sway. They were worshipped and revered, and they enjoyed their power to its fullest extent.

But eventually Lucifer was locked in the Cage, the demons were beaten back into Hell, and Heaven settled down. It was then that the Father saw the humans were worshipping the High Nephilim instead of their true Creator, and He sent His angels to rectify the situation.

One of the angels sent to deal with this was a rather stern young Seraph, one of Michael's lieutenants, named Naomi.

* * *

Naomi frowned as she surveyed the bustling marketplace. So many of her Father's creations living their miniscule lives down in the dirt like so many bugs. It had been three months since she had left Heaven to come here and so far it had been like running up against a wall. Guarding humans was difficult when you also weren't supposed to interfere too much, lest one of Father's plans go awry because of meddling, and attempts to educate them in the One True God had been less than successful. It would have been bad enough, had convincing unbelievers been the only issue. But these humans did believe—just not in her Father. They believed in many different gods: the High Nephilim, the usurpers and pretenders—the flawed blueprint, the step between angels and man.

Which brought her to why she was here today.

"Care for a drink?"

Naomi turned back to her host.

Like angels and demons, the High Nephilim had vessels. Unlike angels and demons, High Nephilim could only inhabit a vessel that was already dead. The body this High Nephilim inhabited was from a neighboring city, brought to the temple as a prisoner of war. After he had been sacrificed to the 'god', his body had been inhabited. The vessel Naomi currently sported was that of a young woman—Naomi had always preferred females—who easily believed.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Suit yourself," Her host drawled. "I must say I'm quite flattered that you deigned to get off your cloud and visit one such as myself. You must have many other important things to be doing."

He smirked, and she itched to punch him. He knew full well that he was her most important task. Everyone worshipped him—god of the dead and the underworld, lord of the crossroads of life and death. Until he was ousted, no one could be persuaded to turn to the One True God.

"Do you know why I'm here?" She asked. It was a mere formality. Of course he knew why she was here.

"Let me take a guess. You want me to back off so that your god can gain more followers." He _tsked_ at her. "That's not how it works, love."

"Our Father is not _our_ god. He is _the_ God. The only God, the One True God—"

"Yes, yes, I've read the flyers."

Naomi made a face as he took a gulp from one of those shockingly large goblets priests always seemed to have around. She had no doubt it was filled with alcohol. All of the High Nephilim had a huge weakness for it.

"Our Father has made a generous offer—"

"Oh has he now?" The smirk was back but it had a bitter edge to it. "Stripping us of our power doesn't seem very generous to me, sweetheart."

"Stop calling me that," She snapped. Not very mature and angelic, she knew, but still. This upstart needed to treat her with respect.

"I can't very well call you by your name when you haven't told me it, O Messenger of the Lord."

"Naomi."

He smiled. It wasn't quite like the smirk she'd been treated to over the past hours of failed negotiations, but it still felt predatory. It sent a shiver through her vessel's body. Human bodies were annoyingly responsive to the slightest physical suggestions.

"Naomi." The way he said her name… it felt different. Dark and dirty, the opposite of what it meant. Something hot spiked in her gut.

"You see, I'm all for making deals," He went on. "But I'm rather careful about them. The last time I was careless with these things…"

He didn't go on. Naomi had heard the story. "Betrayed by your wife and sister-in-law, yes. But you weren't entirely innocent. You were the one who tried to get her trapped in the underworld in the first place, Dumuzi." She made sure to put every ounce of distaste in saying his name.

His smile grew. "You may say or think whatever you like," He replied. "The point is, I rule the underworld now. I even have a new name. I didn't get to where I am by taking the first offer I was given. Go back to your god—"

"_The_ God."

"Yes, whatever. Tell him to sweeten his deal a little and we'll see what happens."

She knew a dismissal when she saw one, but this man-thing-whatever was not one of her superiors in the garrison. If anything, he was her inferior. Besides, she couldn't go back to Michael empty-handed. This wasn't Gabriel's garrison, where soft-willed angels like Anael and cocky cloud-seeders like Balthazar and all other manner of riff-raff were allowed to flaunt their sinful sides. Michael expected a high level of performance. And if she were the only angel to come back without having secured the loyalty of at least one High Nephilim…

"What do you mean by sweeten the deal?" She asked. "Perhaps there is no need for me to report back. Whatever it is, I can probably inform you here and now if there's a chance of you receiving it."

He seemed surprised by that. "Oh?" He took a few steps towards her, looking at her as if this were the first time he'd ever seen her. "Well, you're certainly sweet enough on your own, Naomi," he held a hand up to stay her outraged expression, "but I'm thinking something along the lines of retaining some of my jurisdiction. Nothing much, of course—just a little spot of the afterlife to call my own, a few thousand souls to look after—allowing me to continue to make deals…"

"What you're asking for is insane. It will never be allowed."

He shrugged. "Then I guess we don't have a deal."

Perhaps some intimidation would show the upstart where he truly belonged. She allowed some of her Grace to leak through her vessel, making the air crackle with ozone and electricity. She knew, if she had a way of looking at herself, that there was a colorless glow around her body and in her eyes. She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort—

"You know, those little intimidation tactics don't work on me," He said.

Suddenly, she was no longer gazing at a man. Or, she was, but a man with blood-red eyes, a smile that was unnaturally wide, a red glow to his skin and four shadows, each pointing in a different cardinal direction.

She wasn't proud of this, when she thought on it later, but temper got the best of her.

She hit him.

He struck back, hard, and the fight was on.

They danced around each other like snakes before crashing together, using both mortal and immortal means of dealing blows. She had fought well in the war against the Fallen Star but he surprised her with his knowledge of combat. They were evenly matched. The fight came to an end when he backed her up against a wall of the temple. She stuck out with her fist but he grabbed it, pinning it against the wall. She gathered her Grace to transport herself to a new location—preferably right behind him so that she could smack him upside the head—but then he leaned in and… and…

He _kissed _her.

It wasn't a simple press of the lips, either. There was tongue involved, and heat, and he was moving slowly in and out and her traitorous human body was melding against his, heat pooling in her gut, and—

She transported herself far, far away.

* * *

Michael was understanding of her failure to gain allegiance, seeing how stubborn all of the so-called Old Gods were being, but he insisted that she return and try again.

With great reluctance, she did.

"So nice of you to return," He quipped. "You left without saying goodbye last time."

Naomi allowed her vessel to take a deep breath, refusing to play this little game. She opened her mouth to speak but again she was cut off.

Clearly, manners were not a part of his upbringing.

"If you're here to give me another pitch, darling, I'm not interested. Your god will wax and wane just as all of the others have, and I'm not hitching a ride on someone else's wagon if I can help it."

Naomi retorted, he fired back, they argued, they fought, and at some point he kissed her. She fled, was ordered to keep trying, and the process repeated itself. It even became routine.

At some point, though, she began to kiss back.

At some point, her hands went from being stiff at her sides to roaming over his body—whatever body he inhabited at the time—and her body, formally held a good couple inches away from his, started to press itself up against him.

At some point, they started fucking.

It was angry and rough, all of their arguments transferred into the way they bit and clawed at each other, at how he slammed into her and she ground against him. They left marks everywhere. They had no qualms about the location of the tryst, either. It grew to be that her vessel—no matter what vessel it was—would heat and shiver under his gaze. Sometimes she even initiated it, silencing one of his smarmy remarks with her mouth, kissing him hungrily. Her form craved his, cried out for the way he took her, sucked bruises into her neck, growled into the skin of her shoulder.

A little while after they started the more primal aspect of their meetings, their arguments died down into more of discussions. Like everything else with him, she wasn't sure how it started. It just evolved that way.

But as time went on, she began to realize what dangers she was skirting. The angels were still in a bit of disarray and many had stooped to things such as mating with humans, but she was having—there was no other word for it—an affair with a High Nephilim. The noose was tightening and it was only a matter of time before her superiors found out and she knew she should cut ties now but… she found herself, strangely, unwilling.

"What's wrong, cherub?"

They were lying together on a mountaintop over looking the city as the sun set. It was a rather marvelous view, if a little empty. Sweat and semen cooled on their bodies but neither made a move to get up, simply lying next to each other on the sun-warmed ground.

"I told you," Naomi replied. "Cherubim are the lowest ranking of my kind. I am a Seraph, and you would do well to remember it."

He chuckled. "I thought the Low Nephilim were the lowest."

Naomi gave a shudder. The half-angel half-humans had taken their name from the almost-humans that her Father had created, the ones now known as Old Gods, but they were even worse than that. They were proof of how her brethren sullied themselves.

Yet how could she condemn them, when she was doing the same?

"Ah, no witty comeback. Something's really got your loincloth in a twist."

She shot him a quelling look that, as usual, failed to make him cower. "It is none of your concern."

"Ah." His smirk was bitter. "Finally tiring of me?"

She snorted. "Don't try and convince me that your precious ego is ruined."

"Hardly. It would take a lot more than that."

She had to end this. The meetings had stopped revolving around her mission long ago. Oh, they argued about this and that, he always advocating for the sinful and the debauched, but she no longer tried to recruit him to follow the Father. It didn't even occur to her anymore. She wondered what Michael thought of her behavior—if he suspected anything. She could be given a disciplinary hearing and taken before Zachariah any day now.

But she didn't want to. The sex was damn close to addicting but he also made her laugh. He was witty and intelligent and could hold his own with her in debates. He was the king of gossip and always had stories about what this goddess had done to that god and which pantheon was fighting with whom. She didn't have to be a soldier or a drone. She was Naomi. Whoever Naomi was.

She couldn't think when around him. She had to get out.

"I should go."

"Until next time, then."

She let him kiss her goodbye and tried not to think about what it meant.

* * *

To say he disliked it would be an understatement, but the noose was tightening. Ever since that one prophet from Nazareth had gotten himself crucified everyone was turning to the One God. The Old Gods were quickly running out of places to turn. Oh, the Norse gods were doing all right, as were the gods in the east of Asia and the continents across the ocean in what would later be called the Americas, but the fact remained that Christianity was spreading, and spreading fast.

And here he'd thought the prophet would be less annoying after he was dead. Ah, well. Everyone loves a martyr.

Now there was no chance of aligning with Heaven. First of all he wasn't an angel, and he rather didn't fancy being treated as a second-class citizen for the next few millennia. He still had worshippers among the Romans, where he was known as Janus, and he was rather big in Africa. He didn't want to give up that power. Besides, his tastes were more in line with the darker side of life, if you catch his drift. But he did need to align with someone, and the only group feeding off of the new surge of worship besides Heaven…

Well, you know how the saying goes. Better to reign than to serve, after all.

Lucifer had been locked in the Cage for long enough now that most demons had forgotten he existed. The Knights of Hell were all done for, so that left only the old guard to remember the true leader of Hell. Lilith was in charge but left a lot of administration and strategic duties to Azazel, while Alistair was in charge of torturing souls in order to create new demons. They were the Big Three, the Hades, Poseidon and Zeus of the demon world, and he'd have to get in with them if he stood a chance.

He sent out feelers through various minor deities, many of which had called allegiances long ago or had faded into obscurity. He learned that Alistair, while crafty, wasn't good for much besides handling the rack. Azazel already had a long-term plan in place and wasn't too fond of adding new players, although he might accommodate someone. Still, the whole conquering the world thing wasn't very appealing. War was such an archaic style.

That left Lilith.

For all that Lucifer had viewed demons as even less than humans, Lilith thought they were the chosen people—much like what those Israelites had been touting for a few centuries—and probably wouldn't have wanted to give an Old God a place in her regime. It took a while but his negotiation skills came in handy. He made deals with humans for their souls, passed them off to the upper demons as if he were one of them, made pals with the right people… soon, Lilith was hearing of a very talented Crossroads Demon and arranged for him to have an audience with her.

Charming Lilith was easy. She was like a wife mourning for her lost spouse. She wanted revenge first, revenge second, and revenge third. (In fact, when he heard about a certain John Winchester many centuries later, he thought that the two of them were annoyingly similar.) This revenge came in various forms, of course—the eventual freeing of Lucifer and the bringing about of the Apocalypse, yes, but also in gathering as many souls as possible. Apparently a demon army was also important to some part of Azazel's plan that he'd lain out, and for that they needed Crossroads Demons. He charmed her, they talked, and before long he was in charge of all the Crossroads Demons in Hell. Oh, Lilith got final say on things if she wanted and certain special people she held the exclusive contract on, but generally she let him go about his business.

Of course, he didn't want to be a lackey forever. He wanted his underworld back, and he would get it. But Azazel's plan to kick start the Apocalypse wasn't set to come to fruition for another few centuries, so he had time to figure out exactly what that plan was and figure out how to best capitalize on it. Hell would be his again. He just needed to be patient.

* * *

There was one flaw to the plan.

Naomi.

He knew that she wasn't supposed to be having relations with him. The fact that she was sullying herself with him warmed the cockles of his heart, from the abject pleasure of helping someone to sin but also in a strange, unfamiliar way that he'd prefer not to analyze. Still, struggling with having a relationship (if you could call their interactions a relationship) was one thing. Letting a demon pound you into the wall was quite another. Not to mention he was still on shaky ground in Hell. If they found out he was talking with an angel, any angel, they'd have his hide. He didn't fancy it.

It meant he had to cut all ties, but it also meant he had to lie to her. If she thought he was a demon, Heaven would soon think he was a demon, and his place in Hell would be secured. It wasn't the first time he'd used someone as a tool and it wouldn't be the last, but this time it hurt. He hadn't planned on using her for anything. He simply enjoyed her—her essence in whatever body she was inhabiting, her sex drive, the stick up her ass, her determination and stubbornness, her quick, dry wit. Everything he did was for himself, but she had been just for him in a different way. He couldn't explain it and he didn't want to, but it rankled him.

Simply put, he didn't want to let her go.

When they next met it was on the mountaintop overlooking the city. It was his favorite spot and unless he was completely reading her wrong, it was hers as well. She seemed rather conflicted when she arrived, and he assumed that it was the continuing pressure from Heaven. With Christianity on the rise, the angels had been cracking down on the Old Gods as never before. He doubted her superiors knew anything of their clandestine meetings but he was sure that the fear of discovery and reprisal must have been getting to her.

"I'm afraid this hello is a goodbye, sweetheart," he told her.

He kept it short and sweet. He'd lied to her, lied to everyone. He was a demon who'd sought extra power by masquerading as an Old God, and it had worked for a while, but now Heaven was going after the Old Gods and his superiors in Hell were after him and he had to return to the Pit. He knew she wouldn't be able to argue by looking at him. Angels could see a creature's true form (which in the case of humans was their soul) but his true face looked startlingly like a demon's, so she wouldn't be able to call his bluff on that. And he spun a good tale. She had no proof to contradict him with or call him out on.

When he finished his little spiel she stared at him, her lips pressed tight but her eyes wide. He knew he'd hurt her—he just wondered how much.

She didn't attack him physically or verbally, which through him for a loop. Instead he got to see something cool slide and lock into place in her eyes, like a door closing, before she vanished.

"Goodbye, then," he said to the empty air.

* * *

They met again during the Dark Ages. Astaroth was doing an excellent recruiting job using witchcraft, impressing Lilith and forcing him to work a little harder to stay on top. He felt that Astaroth's methods were a little sloppy—she gave away goodies far too easily, for one thing, and she didn't tell people what the cost of their actions were. He thought it much better to let people know up front what they were getting. Settle all the fine print and then collect when the time came. It was simple, and it worked.

Of course, now there was a flood of witches everywhere, which was both a curse and a blessing, and who had to go around and clean up the messes? He did, of course. Hell was far too full of torturers and berserkers, all with a taste for blood and not nearly enough brains. He couldn't wait to get in charge so he could put everything in order. What was wrong with a little paperwork, anyway? (And it wasn't like he wasn't above bending rules—in fact, he loved it—but you had to know what the rules were, otherwise it was chaos.)

He was checking up on the whole Astaroth thing in a village in northern England when they bumped into each other. He was surprised to see her doing field work—from what he'd heard (he had ears everywhere by now) she was doing strictly office work: a proper bureaucrat.

She stared, he stared—there was a good ten-minute staring contest. He was the first to break it.

"Lovely to see you again," he said. "I must say I like this one. Red hair suits you."

She didn't say anything.

"If you were hoping to catch the demon responsible for all of this," he gestured, "then you're out of luck. I'm just the clean-up crew."

"Astaroth. I know." Naomi looked down at the body of a girl in her late teens. Once he would have seen those eyes light with genuine sadness, but now they appraised the corpse with coldness.

"Her name was Ruby," he offered.

Naomi said nothing, simply moving on to the next body. That was what happened when you got a coven to all sell their souls at the same time—the hounds came to collect all at once. The coven had tried taking shelter in a ring of supposedly sacred stones out in the woods. Turns out the stones weren't sacred enough to stop hellhounds.

"You're certainly talkative," He said.

The sarcasm finally got to her and she turned, anger pouring out of every clenched muscle. "I ought to smite you where you stand," she spat.

"Oh, please try," He replied, spreading his arms. Angels had the power to smite Old Gods as well as demons, but he was still spry enough and his battle skills matched her own.

"You are lower than the mud under my feet," she went on. "You are less than nothing."

"Then why are you wasting so much anger on me?" He replied. Taunted, really. He never could resist playing with fire.

She lunged for him but he dodged and struck back. This felt good and familiar, like slipping into a meatsuit that fit right instead of just settling for whatever human was on hand. Next she would try that blow—ah, yes, there—and all he had to do was twist so he could grab her wrist, and—

She tasted the same as he remembered: like a lightning storm in a desert.

She shoved at him and at first he thought she was pushing him away but as he took a step back she stepped forwards, slamming him against a tree. He yanked her to the moist ground, still kissing her hungrily. He'd missed this more than he'd cared to admit.

It was almost painful in how natural it was, how in tune with all of the previous times. His memory had not failed him. She still grew frantic when he whispered dirty things in her ear, and she still got impossibly wet. She still left scratches, deep and long, red lines that littered his back, and she was still wonderfully loud.

But when it was over, she didn't even give him a chance to speak. She rolled out from under him and vanished, a feeling of emptiness in her wake.

* * *

The mountaintop looked almost the same as it had thousands of years ago. The changes were so minute that if she allowed her senses to relax, she could almost believe they were back in that simpler time.

It had been so easy back then: follow the Father and all will be well. But now her Father had been gone for centuries and the lines were all blurred.

"I was afraid you wouldn't show up."

She turned and was met with a small, tight smile. Crowley hadn't changed his vessel in centuries, and neither had she. It was strangely comforting, to know that some things stayed the same.

"What do you want?"

"What do I always want?" He countered. "You."

She barely stopped herself from snorting in derision. "If you went to all of this trouble to—"

"I didn't mean that, love, although I wouldn't mind a little romp in the hay. I meant an alliance."

That stopped her short. "Heaven and Hell joined? It goes against the very nature of the balance our Father created."

Crowley sighed. "Changes are coming, Naomi. You might not understand it now, but things are about to shift. The scales of power are tipping in new ways. I'd hate to see you on the losing side."

She knew he was wrong, that he was an abomination and nothing that came out of his mouth could be trusted, but a part of her still wanted to believe him. Even after all this time, she was weak.

"I see no reason to go against everything our Father stood for by aligning myself with you."

Crowley looked at her with something akin to softness in his eyes. "Naomi." His voice had lowered, taking on that gravelly quality. "Trust me."

"After everything you've done?" The accusation came out more derisively then she'd intended but it had the desired result: Crowley looked hurt.

"Mark my words," He warned. "You'll have need of me soon."

A piece of paper was pressed into her palm. She hadn't even realized he'd moved closer. "Call me."

He was gone between one breath of wind and the next, and she was left alone on the mountaintop.


	5. Don't Give Me That Look

**Dean and Sam finally reunite, and they've both got some things to talk about.**

* * *

Cas laid a hand on Dean's arm, but Dean stopped him before the angel could mojo them away. "Cas, wait."

Cas lowered his arm, waiting.

"When we get there," Dean took a deep breath. "Can we not tell Sam about… about this?" He gestured between the two of them.

Cas did that head tilt. "What do you mean?"

"I mean about us."

"I don't see why I would."

"Dammit Cas." Dean focused on his breathing. "Look, I just—we're—we're whatever we are, now, and I'd like to work on that before we go telling Sam and he starts planning the freaking wedding."

The second part of that didn't seem to register with Cas, but he latched onto the first part well enough. "I thought that we were a couple, as they say."

"We are. I think. We're—we're something."

Cas tilted his head even further. "Dean," He said. "Are you ashamed of us?"

"What? No!" Dean replied automatically. "I just don't know—look, Sam doesn't know about all the stuff. You know. With the uh," He gestured vaguely.

"You mean when you had to—"

"Yup, yeah, that." Dean nodded. They could stop talking about that now. "Look, Cas, I just don't want to deal with Sam right now. He thought I was dead or something, we've got Naomi and possibly Crowley on our hands, I think that's enough without explaining my bisexual or whatever it is to my brother."

"So you wish to keep the development in our relationship a secret," Cas said, looking thoughtful.

"Yeah. If—if that's okay."

Cas frowned, looking unhappy. If he whipped out the puppy eyes Dean was sunk. Dean took a step forward and put his hands on Cas' shoulders. "I'm not ashamed of us, Cas," He said, keeping his voice low. "I just don't—I don't want to—" He sucked at talking.

He took another step forward and pressed his lips to Cas', soft and chaste. "This ain't changing, Cas," He promised.

Cas nodded, still looking reluctant. "All right."

Dean closed his eyes, waiting for that awful swooping sensation, but instead felt Cas press their lips together again. Cas swept his tongue over Dean's mouth, seeking entrance, and Dean opened up, letting the kiss deepen. When Cas pulled back he gave a little whine of disappointment.

"Dean, open your eyes."

Dean blinked, adjusting to the sudden influx of bright light. They were standing in a dirt driveway in front of a large houseboat, next to a gleaming black '67 Chevy Impala. They'd arrived.

He eyeballed Cas. "You sneaky bastard."

Cas positively preened.

* * *

Amelia laid a hand on his arm, giving him that understanding smile. "You don't have to be so pent up," She told him.

Sam hadn't realized he was pent up, not until she said that. It was only then that he became aware of the buzzing just underneath his skin, like someone had strung live wires and cables all through his muscles and bloodstream, flicking a switch and filling him with electricity. He kept telling himself that Dean being alive was a good thing. He loved his brother. But he'd gotten used to living his life the way he wanted to—building something away from hunting, away from scrutiny and judgment. And now a part of him was worried this reunion would dissolve into Dean criticizing his choices. He listened intently for the sound of a car pulling up, his muscles taut and ears straining.

He'd forgotten about the powers of angelic Grace.

There was no car pulling in, but there did come a knock at the door. Garth opened it, Sam suddenly unable to move.

Dean entered the room first, but Cas was right behind him—back in his trenchoat-blue-tie outfit. Sam stood up just as Dean turned his head, and Dean broke out in the biggest grin.

"Sammy!"

You know what, Dean could criticize his choices all he wanted. He was just glad he had his big brother back. Sam hugged him fiercely, ignoring Dean's _oomph_ of discomfort thanks to their height difference.

"Looking good," Dean commented, still grinning. Sam felt someone step up next to him and saw Dean's eyes slide over. "And who's this?"

Sam turned and saw Amelia, but before he could say anything she was already stepping forward. "I'm Amelia Richardson, Sam's girlfriend."

Riot barked happily and bounded up, eager to sniff the new people. He blinked uncomprehendingly at Cas for a minute before deciding that whatever weird angel smell Cas gave off was nonthreatening, and proceeded to rub his head all over Cas's trenchcoat.

"Nice to meet you," Dean said, shaking Amelia's hand. "You a hunter?"

"Not until I met Sam," Amelia answered.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who gave him a _what are you going to do about it_ look. Dean just shook his head, smiling, and looked over at Riot. "This one yours, or Garth's?"

"Ours," Sam answered.

"Look at you, Sammy. You got a girl, a dog… things seem good."

"They are," Sam said.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" Dean asked, peering around.

"Dean!"

Charlie and Kevin tackled Dean in an imitation of their greeting to Sam the other day. Dean took it good-naturedly, hugging them both and asking how they were. Sam took the opportunity to say hi to Cas.

"How've you been?" He asked.

Cas frowned. "Things have been difficult at times. But good." Sam noticed how the angel's eyes tracked Dean across the room. He couldn't believe those two idiots still hadn't worked themselves out.

"How is everyone?" Cas asked.

Sam ran his hand across his mouth. "We've been okay, up until yesterday. Got attacked by a demon—don't know if you've heard of her. Her name is Abaddon."

"Abaddon?" Cas's brow furrowed. "But she's a Knight of Hell. They were wiped out centuries ago. That was when we believed Gabriel lost."

"Well apparently she survived, and now she's back." Sam looked over at Kevin, who was apparently telling Dean the same story, going by their facial expressions. "She killed Kevin's mom yesterday."

Cas's eyes widened slightly, and Sam admired how the angel had gotten better at showing human emotions and expressions. "I am sorry to hear that, Sam. It must be very hard for him."

Sam nodded. "Kid's a trooper, though. I think he'll be okay in time."

By that point Becky had joined the fray, and Amelia was making Dean laugh. Sam felt himself relaxing a little. Dean seemed to like Amelia, so there was that taken care of. All that was left to do was—

"Sam? What's all the commotion?"

Adam stepped into the room, going from confused to startled as he laid eyes on Dean. Dean froze, mouth open as he gazed at Adam.

"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed.

Sam knew he was grimacing and tried to keep his face neutral. "Dean. You remember when Death got me out for you?"

Dean didn't make any movements, but Sam knew that his brother was listening.

"Apparently he got Adam out as well and didn't tell you. He hid his memories of Hell, did a wall thing just like me—he's been alive for years."

Dean kept staring, and staring, until Sam began to fear for his brother's reaction. But then finally Dean began to move it was slow and methodical, as if he were in a dream.

"You're alive?" He croaked.

Adam nodded. "Yup."

Dean crushed Adam into a hug, and while Sam couldn't hear what Dean was saying, he could very well guess.

"C'mon," Garth said sympathetically. "Let's all sit down and explain things."

"Yeah, like how you came back from the dead," Charlie said. Her eyes lit up as she saw Cas. "Is this Castiel?"

"Yes?" Dean hazarded.

Becky and Charlie squealed and launched themselves at the angel, talking a mile a minute. Cas sent Dean a desperate look, and Sam saw Dean mouth something that looked like _just go with it, man_.

They were definitely in for an interesting evening.

* * *

"So?" Charlie was bouncing in her seat again, but at least she'd stopped hugging Dean. "Where were you? How did you survive the explosion?"

"Stabbing Dick opened a portal into Purgatory," Castiel explained. "We were sucked in."

"There are many jokes that could be made out of that sentence," Amelia noted.

Dean liked this girl already. Cas, typically, didn't get it.

"We were temporarily separated," He went on, "But Dean found me with the help of a vampire named Benny."

"Wait—Dean, you teamed up with a vampire?" Sam's eyebrows were so high they almost disappeared into his hairline.

"He earned it, Sam," Dean replied. He wasn't going to let his baby brother, of all people, judge him on his choice of allies. "It was Purgatory, there weren't a lot of options, and he helped me out of a tight spot. I wouldn't have gotten to Cas if it weren't for him."

Sam cast a look from Cas to Dean and back again, and Dean glared. If Sam started making comments… of course, this time there was actually merit to the comments…

Son of a bitch. Dean couldn't explain things to his brother just yet. Not until he and Cas were on more solid footing. And how was he going to explain things, anyway? Hey, Sam, so you know how Cas and I have a profound bond? Well guess what that means—

No. Just no.

But that thinly veiled wounded look in Cas's eyes, seen for a brief moment before he'd adopted that impenetrable look of steel—Dean couldn't get it out of his mind's eye. He cared about Cas a hell of a lot, and he wanted to make the guy happy. And he did what Sam to know eventually. It was just _getting_ Sam to know that was difficult.

He'd figure it out eventually. Right now they had bigger things to worry about.

"But how are you going to close the Gates of Heaven?" Charlie asked. Dean realized that while he'd gotten lost in thought the others had kept talking and Cas had finished explaining everything.

"We are hoping to discover the angel tablet," Cas answered. "And bring it to Kevin to decipher."

"Funny, because we're working on closing the Gates of Hell," Amelia said. "Kevin's deciphering the demon tablet right now."

Dean's head shot up at that, and he listened in carefully as Sam detailed everything that had happened—the Men of Letters and their grandfather, the bunker, Abaddon and Linda's death—by the end of it Dean's head was reeling.

"So both sides of our family were involved in the supernatural?" What were the chances?

Sam nodded. "Henry didn't seem all to fond of hunters, going by his journal entries. The Men of Letters were more like scholars, collecting knowledge and artifacts. But they were also interested in large-scale eradication of supernatural beings. That's why they searched for the demon tablet and others."

"Okay." Dean nodded, thinking. "Okay, so they were like the CIA while hunters are the cops. I get it. But how are you closing the Gates of Hell? And how does Adam come into this?"

Adam had been rather silent throughout the entire conversation, but now sat up straight. "According to the tablet, I'm the one who's supposed to close the Gates. I have to pass through three trials in order to do it."

Dean didn't like that one bit. "You gave up a normal life for that? Are you sure about this?"

Adam nodded. "This is my choice. I made things—I kind of screwed things up before. I didn't listen to you guys and just created a bigger mess. I want to change that. I want to help."

Dean still didn't like the idea of the kid throwing himself in there, but Adam was an adult and could make his own choices. Besides, Dean could understand the idea of wanting to make up for the things you'd done. A shadow of memories of Hell passed through his mind and he had to repress a shudder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cas's hand twitch towards him, an aborted attempt at comfort before the angel remembered Dean's request and settled his hand back into his lap. Dean cursed himself silently, wishing Cas had gone ahead and put his hand on his knee or something.

"If you need anything," Dean said, "We're here."

Adam nodded, appearing sincere in his acceptance of their offer.

"What'll happen to any demons outside of Hell?" Amelia asked. "Those making deals or otherwise stuck on earth at the time?"

Dean shot a look over at Sam. His baby brother had obviously taken no chances this time around and had filled his lady in on all of the necessities. Good. They didn't need a repeat of Jess on their hands.

"The tablet doesn't say," Kevin admitted. "Or if it does, it's in a part I haven't translated yet."

"It could be like when Cas was cut off from Heaven," Sam said. "He slowly started becoming human. Same thing could happen to the demons."

"Can the Gates ever be reopened?" Cas asked.

"No." Kevin shook his head and gave a little sigh. "It's a one-time deal. Once they're closed they can't be reopened. The tablets describe it as a kind of failsafe if the Apocalypse went wonky or demons were taking over the earth or something. It's like the self-destruct mechanism."

Dean felt Cas stiffen just a fraction. Cas already carried himself pretty stiffly so he doubted anyone else noticed, but Dean could see it: the tightening of the lines around the eyes—the jaw not so much clenching as solidifying—the shifting of the shoulders.

"So," Dean spoke when it was clear Cas wasn't going to say anything. "Same should go for the Gates of Heaven, right? Done deal?"

"Theoretically," Kevin said. "I'd need to read the tablet to be sure."

Dean leaned to his left, pressing himself against Cas's side. Nobody seemed to notice except for Sam, who always noticed way too much for his own good. The Samsquatch's eyes flicked from Cas to Dean, but then he looked down at the floor as if deciding it wasn't worth starting a fight over. Good choice. Dean wasn't in the mood.

"Why do you want to close the Gates of Heaven anyway?" Charlie asked. "I mean, I've only just brushed up on the books but Castiel—you want to help the angels, right? Wasn't that what free will and the civil war with Raphael was about?"

Dean stared at her, and Charlie blushed. "Becky's been filling me in on things. Chuck apparently wrote all the way up to the Alpha Wars."

"Alpha Wars?" Dean asked.

"You know—the thing with Eve and all!" Becky was on the edge of her seat, eyes gleaming.

Dean rolled his eyes. Great. Just great. Luckily Cas wasn't fazed.

"The angels do not seem to understand free will—or want it," Cas admitted. The others probably couldn't pick up on the minute traces of sadness in his voice, but Dean could. It hurt to see Cas in pain.

"I slaughtered many of my brothers and sisters. Our numbers are half of what they once were," Cas went on. "I am not fit to rule Heaven. But neither are my brothers and sisters fit to meddle with humanity. They have strayed from what we should have been—warriors of God and protectors of humanity. All that our Father asked was that we love humans. That was the reason Lucifer fell. And we have failed in that. We are no better than demons, in our way.

"And now, in my absence, a dangerous angel has taken charge. Her name is Naomi. She follows the same basic principles as Michael and Raphael but—she is much harsher in her rule. I feel that the only solution is the close the Gates, sealing Naomi and the other angels inside."

Amelia opened her mouth, her brow crinkled, but Sam laid a hand on her knee and she closed it again, staying silent. Dean wondered what she was going to say. It was a big thing if she and Sam were so in tune his brother knew what she was going to say—and successfully stopped her—before she said it.

"Do you know where this angel tablet might be?" Charlie asked.

"We were hoping this Men of Letters thing could help with that," Dean replied.

"We can go back to the bunker," Adam said. "Or you guys can. They could have it or at least have a clue as to where it is."

"Great," Dean said. "We'll find it, bring it here, Kevin can translate it and we're off."

"There will probably be three trials," Kevin said. "Just like with Hell."

"And the Leviathan," Sam added. "The blood of three thing was practically a set of trials in itself."

Dean snorted. He could agree with that.

"Sounds like a plan." He stood, pointing at Sam. "I want you three communicating with me and Garth. You're going out there blind and I don't want any of you getting killed because you didn't call for backup."

Sam made Bitchface #45. "Yes, Dean."

Dean nodded. "All right. I don't know about you but I had a rude wakeup call and a trip on Angel Airlines, so I'm going to pack it in. Cas?"

Cas looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Yes, Dean?"

Dean restrained himself from rolling his eyes. It took effort. "You coming?"

Sam's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and Dean didn't much like the gleam in Charlie's eyes, either. "We're going to talk, guys. Seriously."

"Dean."

He looked back at Sam, who was standing. Geez. He'd forgotten how tall his brother was. "You know the same goes for you, right? You and Cas better keep us updated."

"We will, Sammy." Dean grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "We will."

They took one of Garth's (many) spare bedrooms. Cas insisted he didn't need to sleep but Dean ignored him, wrapping an arm around his waist and yanking him into the bed. "You can do that creepy staring at me while I sleep thing if you want," He said. "Just shut up and lie still."

He went to sleep with Cas's back against his chest and a mess of dark hair in his mouth. His dreams were blissfully blank.

* * *

"Where are you guys off to?" Dean asked from the doorway as he watched Sam pack.

"Amelia found something in the paper—a family struck oil where scientists say no oil should be. Geologically impossible or something like that," Sam explained, zipping up the duffel. "You guys heading out?"

"Just after breakfast."

Sam nodded. "Dean? Is everything okay between you and Cas?"

"Of course it is," Dean replied, doing that thing where he answered quickly and confidently to cover up. "Why wouldn't it be?"

The thing was, Sam couldn't quite put his finger on it. And if he couldn't name what was different, then he couldn't very well pin Dean down and make him talk. "Nothing. You two just seem… different."

"Is it a bad different?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Because if things were different, you know—people change."

Sam squinted at his brother. "Dean? Are you trying to say something?"

"Nope." Dean shook his head. "Are you?"

Sam sighed. He didn't have time to deal with his brother's unending emotional constipation.

"Amelia," Dean said. "She seems like a great girl."

Well, that wasn't a subject change at all. "She's been there for me," Sam replied. "We helped each other out."

Dean nodded. "I like her. Really, I do."

"But what?"

Dean shrugged. "I'm just thinking about the last time you were without me for a while—the kind of girl that was there for you."

Sam knew Dean was just looking out for him, but it was still annoying. "Yeah, well before Ruby there was Jess. And she was pretty much perfect." Dean would have loved Jess. The thought, like most things concerning Jess, had faded from pain to something softer and sepia-toned, like a photograph in an album. "Amelia's clean. She's strong, kind, and the best thing to happen to me since I don't even know when."

Dean regarded Sam for a moment before nodding. "Well, I could never begrudge you that. And I do like her, Sam. She's great."

"Thanks."

"Call." Dean pointed a finger at Sam. "I want to know you guys are staying out of trouble."

"I should ask the same of you," Sam replied. "Going after Heaven all on your own."

Dean grinned. "Best way to do it."

Sam let himself smile back, warmth spreading through his chest. They were going their separate ways for the time being, but they were both alive and happy and with the people they cared about.

Sam didn't see any problem with that.

"Oh, and one last thing."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I get Baby back."

Resigned, Sam tossed Dean the keys.


	6. Epic

**Odysseus and Penelope, Gilgamesh and Enkindu, Romeo and Juliet… Dean and Castiel?**

* * *

Cas insisted that he could just mojo them to the bunker, but Dean had refused. He had his baby back, and he was driving her. Sam gave them detailed instructions, Dean double-checked all the weapons were in the trunk, and they were off.

The drive was a quiet one. Dean tried starting conversations but Cas replied in short answers that didn't invite further discourse, and after a while Dean got the hint and put on some music. Cas was upset about the secret relationship thing. Which, on one hand, Dean could understand. He'd be a little pissed if Cas had taken Dean to Heaven (not that Dean was dying to go) and ignored Dean the entire time—but Dean hadn't ignored Cas. Had he? He just wasn't in the mood for a huge sharing feelings talk with Sam. Hey, if Sam were the kind of person who accepted things without all the talking and sharing then Dean would have told him right off the bat.

Wouldn't he?

* * *

The bunker was in prime real estate. Sam's instructions made it easy to locate, but unless you knew where you were going you could easily get lost or miss it. And even if anyone did find it, they'd think it was just an abandoned factory or something. There were even some empty, dusty rooms in case some adventurous teens went exploring.

The entrance was appropriately secret but unassuming and simple. Dean could appreciate that. Once they got inside, though, Cas looked like a kid that had been told Christmas was coming early. His eyes widened as they took in the massive oak bookshelves stuffed with thick tomes. There were tables with maps built into the tops, glass cases displaying ancient (and probably dangerous) artifacts, and a bunch of electrical devices that were probably state of the art back in the '50s or whenever but were now horrendously outdated. And Dean still preferred records and cassette tapes.

"So what d'ya think, Cas?" Dean placed his hands on the rail and gazed out over the expanse. "Is this angel tablet in here?"

"There's only one way to find out," Cas answered and started down the stairs.

"Any way you could sense the thing?" Dean asked.

"Probably," Cas said, tilting his head in thought. "But I couldn't tell you what that sensation would be."

"So it's a know it when you see it kind of thing."

"I suppose so."

The first room they entered was rather sparse. There was a huge wardrobe against the wall and a large bed, but nothing else.

"Looks like a dead end here," Dean commented.

"Maybe we should check the wardrobe?" Cas asked.

Dean went up to it, running his hand over the wood. It was solidly made and appeared to be of black walnut. Some strange carvings appeared to have been made on the doors but he couldn't quite make them out. Maybe if he opened the door and the front panel caught the light from the hallway…

Dean opened the wardrobe door, trying to make it catch the light. It wasn't like any symbols he knew, although that one right there looked kind of like the earth symbol from Stargate if you tilted your head—

Something, like wind or a vacuum, pulled at him and the next thing he knew he was falling into the wardrobe, the door slamming shut behind him.

* * *

Dean blinked, looking around and taking in his surroundings. His clothes had changed—he was wearing a tailored suit, complete with suspenders—and he was in a classy and probably expensive apartment.

He recognized this world.

This was the world that Zachariah had sent him to all those years ago. But hadn't he made it up? That was what angels did, right? Tricked you? Zachariah didn't have the power to send you to an entirely different universe… although he had sent Dean into the future that one time.

Just to be sure, Dean hurried to check the nameplate on the mailbox in the lobby. Sure enough, the name on the box was _Dean Smith_.

"Son of a bitch."

Dean dashed back up the stairs and into the apartment, trying to sort out what he knew. Okay, so the wardrobe was some kind of portal into an alternate world, like Narnia. What did he know about this world anyway? Jo was his sister, with Bobby and Ellen as his parents. Sam worked in—what, I.T. or something? Who was Sam related to—John and Mary or someone else?

Oh, God. Zachariah was his boss.

"Dean?"

He turned, ready for anything—except what he saw.

Cas was standing there in boxers and socks, tilting his head to the side and squinting at Dean. "Babe? You all right?"

This part of the universe Dean did _not_ remember.

"I'm fine." Dean replied, hoping Cas would go back to getting dressed or whatever. Instead Cas walked over to him, his hands gently gripping Dean's hips and pulling him closer to kiss him softly. There was something different in how Cas kissed him—it was so familiar, so confident and content in a way that kissing his Cas wasn't. Not that kissing his Cas wasn't good or anything, but this Cas—this one knew what he was doing. And furthermore, he knew that Dean would kiss back.

And he did kiss back. God help him, he did. He wrapped an arm around Cas's waist, let their bodies come together as Cas slid a hand up to tangle in Dean's hair—and Dean felt it. A thin, smooth band around Cas's finger, the metal cool against Dean's skin. Dean pulled back and as Cas brought his hand down he could see it, a thin silver ring on Cas's left ring finger.

"Go on or you'll be late for work," Cas said.

"Uh-huh." Dean nodded. "I just have to grab something."

He dashed back into the wardrobe as quickly as possible.

* * *

"Thanks so much for agreeing to this."

By now Dean had tapped into his hunter skills—the ones he used when interviewing people as FBI. He let himself react instinctively to each situation while he tried to puzzle out what universe he was in now. He grinned lazily in response. "No problem." He looked around.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, his clothes on the floor next to him. Cas was bent over with his back to him, fiddling with a large camera. They appeared to be in some kind of studio, judging by the bare state of things and the lighting and lit white wall the camera was pointed at. Dean pawed through his clothes for some kind of answer, and found a small piece of paper in the back pocket of his jeans.

_Wanted: Model for photo shoot. Must be comfortable with partial nudity. Call Castiel at (310) 555-9878_

So Cas was a photographer and Dean had agreed to model for him. Great.

"I'm always looking to make a quick buck," Dean said, trying to play the part—whatever part this was.

Cas stood and turned, and the breath caught in Dean's throat.

Cas was _young_.

Not inappropriately so, but definitely in his early to mid twenties. Dean swallowed, taking in the dark fitted jeans and soft gray-blue v-neck shirt. Cas's hair was properly mussed and he was grinning lazily, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards as he stood with his hands in his front pockets, taking Dean in.

Make that checking Dean out. Son of a bitch.

"You ready?"

Dean nodded, seeing as he had no idea what else he could do, and stepped in front of the camera. There was a low stool that couldn't have been just decoration, so he sat down on it, letting his legs splay open a little. As Cas stood behind the instrument and made a few adjustments, Dean quickly examined himself. He might not have a mirror on him, but he knew his body and that included the regrettable bit of pudge on his stomach, the one he couldn't get rid of no matter how many hunts he went on or how many punches he threw. Right now? He was rocking a six-pack, no pudge in sight. The last time that had been the case he'd been… what, twenty-two?

So they were both about college age. All right. Dean was probably starving, like most college students, and looking for a little extra cash. Cas probably needed this for a class or his portfolio or whatever. They didn't seem to know each other, going by the pink that dusted Cas's cheeks when he looked at Dean and how he was still nervously fiddling with the camera.

"Is it okay if I talk?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Cas nodded. "I won't be getting much of your face, I'm afraid. It's for a study in bodies."

"Like painting a nude only with photography?"

Cas gave a small smile. "You could say that."

From there things relaxed more, and Dean almost forgot about the camera flashing in favor of joking around with Cas. This Cas was loose and relaxed, confident and in his element—so different and yet so similar to his own Cas. There was a marked difference between them, one that Dean couldn't yet figure out.

"This is for my end of term project," Cas explained. "I usually prefer nature shots but now I'm glad I have to do the project."

"Oh?" Dean grinned. "And why's that?"

Cas blushed and snapped a few more pictures. "Let's just say you make a good model."

Okay, so this Cas definitely liked Dean. And he wasn't above making it known, either. Dean remembered how he was at this age and knew how he'd have had no problem jumping on the opportunity presented. His imagination kicked into high gear. What would it be like, now that they were younger? There'd probably be a quicker recovery time, of course, but also… this Cas probably had experience. Or if not, he was at least used to being human and all the urges and desires that came with it. And if Cas's body was smoking in its third (or was it fourth?) decade, Dean could only imagine the lean, toned muscles he must have in his twenties. He could just imagine the muscles hidden underneath the jeans and shirt. Cas's arms were exposed, as were his collarbones from that damn v-neck, and Dean's mouth watered. He wanted to taste them, see if this Cas tasted the same as his. It appeared that Cas's laser-like attention was no different in this universe, either. Dean had been looking forward to helping Cas learn how to use that in sex, but this Cas probably already knew. He'd probably been around the block a few times, already knew what he liked and how to do things.

Dean realized that he was growing hard and desperately tried to think of something. Dead kittens. Sam's bitchface. Bobby naked.

Too late. Cas faltered in whatever he was saying, his eyes zeroing in on Dean's crotch. Wearing nothing but briefs, there was no way that Cas wouldn't see it. He raised his eyes and met Cas's gaze.

Cas was staring at him, pupils blown wide and dark, his cheeks flushed. Dean swallowed. He'd been pretty daring back in the day, and it had always paid off. He felt like taking a chance again. Before he could say anything, Cas beat him to it.

"You want me to stop?"

Dean let a lazy, cocky grin float to his lips. "You want me to keep going?"

He could see Cas's throat bob as he swallowed. Eyes wide, he nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Dean slid his hand down to cup himself. He braced his feet on the floor (and wished he wasn't sitting on a hard wooden stool) and imagined it was Cas's hand instead of his: Cas's hand sliding under his boxers, slowly running his fingers up and down his length, taking his time working Dean up. He heard the camera go off again and cracked open one of his eyes, glowering at Cas.

"These pictures better not show up anywhere," Dean cautioned.

"Trust me," Cas's voice lowered to a growl. "I won't be sharing them."

Dean hummed, closing his eyes again. He could feel Cas watching him, the heat of the other man's gaze lying heavy on his skin. He tipped his head back and—yeah, okay, he was putting on a bit of a show but he had a more than willing audience. And it wasn't like he wasn't getting anything out of this.

Suddenly the heat he was feeling wasn't from himself or the thought of Cas watching him—it was a very tangible thing, right in front of him. He opened his eyes just in time to see Cas step in between his legs and wrap an arm around his shoulders and then he was getting kissed senseless. Cas had a wicked tongue and was taking no quarter and why the hell was the guy still dressed while Dean was almost butt naked?

"Got anywhere more comfortable?" Dean asked. "'Cause I'm not complaining about where this is going but this stool isn't exactly cushioned and you've got way too many clothes on."

"My bedroom's down the hall," Cas managed to get out in the middle of sucking a vicious hickey to Dean's throat.

"This is your apartment?"

"You think I can pay to rent a studio?" Cas fired back.

Dean managed to get Cas's clothes off by the time they reached the bedroom and _holy shit_ the guy knew how to take charge. Not that Dean was complaining. They had sex who knew how many times. God bless youth and hormones. He hadn't had a marathon session like that since that weekend with Lisa. And when they were both too tired to even move anymore, Cas just looped at arm around him like the octopus he was and went to sleep, a happy little smile on his face. It made Dean feel warm inside just to look at him. He couldn't remember the last time—hell, any time—Cas had smiled like that.

And that was when it hit him.

That was what was different about this Cas.

He had confidence and self-assurance. He had no problem flirting with someone he barely knew and sleeping with them—hell, he had no problem pushing that person down into the mattress and doing whatever he damn well wanted to them (which was fucking _hot_). His Cas… his Cas didn't. Not just sexually but in general. His Cas wasn't confident anymore. He didn't know who he was. He was lost.

Dean's stomach clenched at the thought.

They'd said a lot of things in Purgatory—things they hadn't meant—and afterwards they'd spent a lot of time apologizing. He'd thought that his forgiveness and their new relationship status would have helped chase that empty look from Cas's face. But looking at this Cas, full of assurance and optimism… it made Dean realize how lost his own Cas actually was.

His last thought before sinking into sleep was that he had to be there for Cas. He had to show him that he wasn't lost. He was right where he belonged.

Dean awoke hours later to darkness. Cas was sprawled out on his stomach, skin glowing softly in the light that filtered through the balcony window. His body ached as he sat up, but in a good, satisfying way. He got dressed in silence, careful not to make the floorboards creak. It had been a couple of years since he'd snuck out of someone's room but he'd had at least a decade of practice and it went off without a hitch.

Cas was still sleeping peacefully when he slipped out of the room. He hoped that this world's Dean and Cas had a full future ahead of them.

He wondered if he and his Cas had a full future as well.

* * *

When Dean stepped through the wardrobe he only had time to register that he was in a small room painted a light green before someone was tugging at his shirt. "Dad!"

Dean looked down. A young Ben—probably about four years old—was tugging at Dean's shirt. "Dad, Cas is here!"

Dean smiled. "Okay, buddy." He glanced down at his hand. No wedding ring.

Ben scurried out of the room, yelling for Cas. Dean followed, walking out of what was apparently Ben's bedroom and down a hallway into a living and dining area. Off to the right he could see a kitchen.

"Anything I need to know about tonight, Dean?"

Cas was standing in the doorway wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone. He looked a little uneasy.

"Uh, no." Dean frowned. "Actually, Cas, can I talk to Ben for a second?"

Ben scampered after Dean as he led the kid back into the bedroom. "Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I, uh—I need you to do me a favor. It's kind of like a game. Where's mom?"

"My mom?" Ben frowned. "You told me she died in an accident when I was two. You were her boyfriend so you took me in and became my Daddy."

"Okay." Dean nodded. "And how did Cas become your babysitter?"

"Uncle Sam knows him from work," Ben answered. "He babysits me when you have to work late or go on dates."

"What kind of dates do I go on?"

Ben shrugged. "I dunno. Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. I never meet them." Ben looked up at him. "Dean? Why don't you just date Cas?"

Okay, he was not prepared for this.

"It's a long story, kiddo. Now go and wash your hands for dinner."

Ben scampered off. Okay. Time to review the situation. Treat it like a hunt. What did he know?

First off, he and Lisa had been dating when Ben was a toddler. Lisa had gotten into some kind of accident and he had taken Ben in. That sounded about right. Obviously he and Sam weren't hunters—not with this house and taking in a kid. Plus Ben had said Cas was Sam's coworker from "the office". The law office? But what kind of lawyer had the time or desire to babysit a kid?

Dean didn't know what his exact relationship with Cas was in this world—if they were friends or if he was just 'Ben's dad'—but if the previous worlds were anything to go by, this Cas liked Dean. Every single Cas in every single universe had liked Dean. And, going by what others had said, in every single universe Dean had liked Cas.

Well, maybe Dean could do this universe's Dean a favor. Which begged the question as to where, exactly, this universe's Dean actually was at the moment.

Legs a little shaky, Dean went back out into the main room. Cas was standing in the kitchen, cutting up broccoli.

"Making dinner?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Cas glanced up at him. "I always make dinner for Ben."

"Right. Yeah. I know." Dean tried to grin, but he thought it might have come out as a grimace. "So, Cas—"

"Dean?" Cas glanced at the clock. "Won't you be late?"

"For what?" Dean blanked.

"Your date."

This time Dean was sure he managed to pull off an actual grin. "Nah. I'm already on it."

Cas's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the knife. "Excuse me?" He asked, sounding hopeful and terrified at the same time.

Dean had no idea what to say next, worried that if he tried to go into a speech or anything he'd give away who he really was. Instead he just stepped forward, took the knife from Cas's hand and placed it on the counter, and kissed him. It was soft and cautious, like a first kiss should be. Like their first kiss would have been, if they had lived lives like this, two ordinary men instead of a hunter and an angel.

"But…" Cas's voice was low; as if any noise might break the bubble they were in. "I thought—you'd never—"

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Same."

They kissed again, this one deeper and more satisfying, Cas's hands were on his biceps and Dean let his hands roam, wrapping around Cas and pulling him as close as he could. It was slow and sweet and so very normal, like they had all the time in the world. It made something deep in his chest ache.

"Ew! Gross!"

They broke apart to find a very disgusted Ben standing in the middle of the room, staring at them.

"Sorry buddy," Dean said. "Um, why don't you help Cas here with dinner. I'll be right back."

He couldn't stay any longer. It would be foolish to.

Dean paused in the doorway to Ben's room, looking back over his shoulder. Ben was standing on a stool, putting pasta in a pot as Cas patiently helped him. He had this. In another life, he had this. The house, the kid, the lover.

It was all too much.

Dean practically threw himself into the wardrobe.

* * *

It was insane.

He saw himself and Cas in every time period, including those of the future, in every romantic comedy cliché, in every branch of the armed forces—as policemen, as FBI, as firefighters and paramedics. There was one where they were the owners of rival food truck companies, for crying out loud. There were various… well, Dean just gave up and dubbed them "superhero worlds", some of which looked suspiciously like comic books come to life (he was pretty sure he was Iron Man in one and Cas was Captain America), and a few ones where one or both of them was involved with the mob. They were in fairytales, medieval times, one or both of them being royalty or knights, dragons, and more than a few that reminded him of fantasy books like Lord of the Rings or A Song of Ice and Fire. There were a lot of science fiction ones (and one pretty awesome steampunk), ones where they were doctors, lawyers, bakers, chefs, or any combination. A lot—a _lot_—involved coffee shops. And college. And high school. You know what, just schools in general. And why was he always teaching kindergarten?

The one where Cas was his teacher was pretty damn hot.

There was a handful where they were professors together. It was interesting—at least to Dean's mind—because although he was always, always a professor of Literature or English or whatever, Cas's degree was always changing. Sometimes he held multiple degrees in various fields.

In one memorable universe, Cas was his gym trainer. Another one was where they were strangers on a train, literally. Dean had felt a little bad about that one. It was clearly the first time the Dean and Cas of this universe had met and he'd felt kind of like he was stealing the moment. But he was stealing the moment from himself and besides, this time he got to charm Cas properly from the start instead of stabbing him in the chest.

There were a lot of western ones. Involving ranching or cowboys or something of that sort. Those were Dean's favorites. (Although the Impala was always a horse. He could never quite get his head around that.) Cas would be a preacher (Cas being a man of God was a pretty big theme) or a sheriff and Dean a marshal or an outlaw and a train heist was always involved. He also kind of liked the ones where he or Cas or both of them were musicians, especially the ones where they were famous and doing rock. Couldn't complain about that.

The ones he liked the least were the ones where they were criminals or spies. Didn't matter if they were on the "good side" or if their cause was just. Those usually ended badly—the worst being the Bonnie and Clyde one. Whenever he stepped into one he got out as quickly as he could.

There was even one where they were at Hogwarts.

There were an awful lot where they were artists, too, which—what? It fit Cas, sure, but Dean? Painting and sculpting and—yeah, no. The ones where he was a writer, on the other hand, those he could get behind. Not the acting ones. Standing in front of a bunch of people like that? Nothing doing. There were also a surprising number of ones where he was a tattoo artist (why was Cas never the tattoo artist?)—those where his favorite of the 'artsy' ones. He especially liked how Cas always had wing tattoos. They were always different, with no two being alike, but each was beautiful and breathtaking and perfectly _Castiel_.

The one with Cas as an archeologist was hilarious.

And what the hell was up with the ones that were Jane Austen novels come to life? Not that he didn't appreciate Cas as a Mr. Darcy. Those outfits were fucking _made_ for that guy.

There were more normal ones as well—where they met through happenstance or mutual friends or a bar or work or whatever. They were childhood friends, or coworkers, or a pilot and a flight attendant or reporters (or were they journalists? What was the difference?)—just ordinary people meeting and enjoying an ordinary love.

Thing was, all of these worlds had gotten way off-track. They'd started as fairly close to his world, with only certain changes. John had broken in Hell before Dean had made his deal and so Cas had rescued John, making his dad the Righteous Man. Everyone was a girl, or some of them were girls. Mary had survived the fire, not John. Jess had lived and hunted with them, or Sam had saved Jess but died himself. Ruby had truly helped them end the Apocalypse and still fought at their side. But now they were so different that the only consistency was in the cast of characters. How he knew or was related to them often changed but every time he entered a world, the people closest to him were those he loved.

And Cas. There was always Cas.

It was concerning. He'd never studied anything about alternate universes. Hell, he was too busy trying to deal with the big theological issues in his own world, never mind wonder if there were any others out there. But he did start to wonder if the more unrecognizable the universe was from his own, the farther he was drifting away. What if, like a series of doors, he was entering rooms and methodically moving farther down the corridor away from the one he'd started out in?

What if he never got back?

* * *

This time, Dean knew the instant he stepped through the wardrobe that something was wrong.

He was in some kind of ornate bedroom in—was this Renaissance?—with a window overlooking a garden. Cas was sitting on a large four-poster bed, wearing nothing but a sheet draped over his lap. The sight of that would normally make Dean's pants tight but the expression on Cas's face was wrong. It spoke of despair, of pain and hopelessness.

"Cas?"

Cas looked up, a bittersweet smile gracing his face. "Dean."

Dean crossed over, clambering onto the bed and sitting next to Cas, who leaned into him and rested his head on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"They suspect us," Cas replied. "This evening I had to stop both Michael and my uncle Zachariah from following me. It's only a matter of time before they catch us."

"Well, what's it to them?" Dean asked, trying to figure out what this exact situation was.

"I think you being the son of my family's worst enemy might have something to do with it." At least Cas could still muster up that dry wit.

So they were Romeo and Juliet? Great. That story ended well. "Maybe we could be a change. Y'know, make love not war."

Cas chuckled and pressed a kiss to Dean's neck. "I don't think humor will help us now, beloved."

He was definitely in olden times. Who the hell called someone 'beloved' nowadays?

"What do you suggest we do, then?"

Cas trembled—freaking _trembled_—and buried his face even further into Dean's neck. "We'll have to stop this," He whispered.

He kept talking, saying things about how Dean would be killed or something like that, but Dean stopped listening.

This wasn't right.

Sure, there had been some universes where things had to be kept on the down low, so to speak. There'd been a few where he learned that Cas's family didn't approve, or John had needed time to come around. But they'd always made a life for themselves and been happy.

"No," He said.

"No?" Cas repeated, unsure.

"No more hiding," Dean said. "I don't care if that means we have to run away. Cas, I want you—for forever. I'm not going to hide that anymore or be ashamed of it."

There was a pause as Cas considered his words, and for a horrible moment Dean thought he'd ruined things. What if Cas decided their families or reputation or whatever was more important? What if he'd just lost this universe's Dean his one piece of happiness?

Cas's face lit up like someone had lit a firework in it, and he flung his arms around Dean's neck.

"Yes," He whispered, his lips warm against Dean's ear. "Yes, Dean."

Dean allowed himself one kiss—one deep, slow kiss—before he pulled away. "I'll be right back," He said. "I have to grab something."

He bolted for the wardrobe. He needed to get out, now, and let this world's Dean make his plans and have his new life with Cas. He couldn't stay and intrude any longer.

Once he reached the wardrobe however he paused.

If they shouldn't have to hide in this universe—or any universe—then why was he making them hide in his own?

No matter what, he and Cas were there for each other. They made each other better people, brought out the best in each other. Cas's happiness was more important than anything else to Dean and if that meant being public about their relationship—labeling it and holding holds and shit—then so be it.

Dean stepped back into the wardrobe. If only he could get back.

* * *

Dean fell out of the wardrobe and into a heap on the hard concrete floor, banging his elbow right in that spot that made it feel funny and knocking the wind out of him. He gazed around him, ready for anything, and had to hold in a whoop of triumph when he recognized the bunker room he'd started in. He was finally back in his own world.

"Dean?"

Cas poked his head into the room, blue eyes clouded with bewilderment. "What are you doing?"

Dean sat up, ignoring the twinge in his back. "How long have I been gone?"

"Gone?" Cas entered the room and helped pull Dean to his feet. "I just left the room and realized you weren't behind me, so I turned back to look and saw you fall out of that wardrobe."

"Yeah, we're burning that thing," Dean informed him.

Cas made to drop his hand from Dean's but Dean held on tight, tugging him in and sealing their mouths together. Cas stood there stiffly for a moment but Dean was insistent, his tongue swiping at Cas' lower lip. Cas gave in and melted against him with a small groan, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and burying a hand in his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp. Feeling this universe's Cas against him he had to wonder how on earth he'd thought those other versions were substantial. They were phantoms compared to his Cas.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. "I'm sorry I—I want Sam to know. I want everyone to know. I don't care—I don't care about any of that. You and me, that's all that matters, okay?"

Cas appeared a bit dazed. Dean plowed on before he could lose his courage. "I haven't said this sort of thing before. I probably never will again. But you're it, okay? You and me, this whole being together thing, this feels right. Does—am I making any sense?"

Cas tilted his head slightly, his eyes scrunching up in the corners. "I think so," He answered.

Dean felt some of the tension leech out of his shoulders. "Does this mean that I'm forgiven?"

Cas pressed a quick, dirty kiss to his mouth; his tongue snaking in and making Dean's toes curl. "Maybe," He replied.

Dean smiled against Cas's lips. He could live with that.

* * *

**T****he photography/model thing is all lastknownwriter's fault. I blame her one hundred percent. (Go read her awesome stories 'cause she's the best.)**

**I also suggest you read cloudyjenn's "The Mirror" because it's amazing and deals with the same basic premise. You can find it on LJ and Ao3.**


	7. He Started It

**Adam, Sam and Amelia try to tackle the first trial, but the people they're trying to protect turn out to be more trouble than the trial itself.**

* * *

The vintage dark blue Chevy pickup rolled up to the gates of "Cassity Farms". Sam, Amelia and Adam all peered up at them.

"Kind of imposing," Amelia noted.

"Is somebody going to ask for a password?" Adam asked, only half joking.

To their surprise, however, the gates opened automatically, allowing Sam to drive up the driveway. The gates opening also gave them the benefit of gazing upon a very nice, rather neat farm. There was a massive ranch house, one story and sprawling, with stables, paddocks, and even the bright red barn to complete it.

"Well, we're here," Adam said. "Now what do we do?"

"Keep an eye out I guess," Sam answered. "When a hellhound comes to collect the victims start hallucinating and becoming paranoid."

"So if someone's freaking out, it's probably them?" Amelia asked dryly.

"Pretty much."

They got out, scanning the area for signs of life. Sam spotted someone underneath a nearby tractor, resting on a mechanic's dolly.

"Uh, excuse me?" Sam said, knocking lightly on the hood of the truck. "Could we speak to the person in charge?"

The person rolled out on the dolly, revealing a rather attractive, young Hispanic woman. Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore old jeans, scuffed work boots, a shirt and plaid over shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She waved her wrench at Sam. "You're looking at her."

"What?" Sam asked as the young woman stood up. "You own the ranch?"

The woman laughed. "No, just manage the property. You guys here about the job?" She spoke with a slight accent.

Sam glanced back at Adam and Amelia. "How'd you guess?"

"We get our share of drifters."

"Ah."

"Ever worked a farm before?"

"Definitely," Adam said quickly.

Sam took a more cautious tack. "We're quick learners."

Ellie eyed him, humming. Before she could speak again, another person joined them. It was a man a few years older than Sam, a little on the heavier side with a pile of dark brown hair and a beard to match. He had small facial features and a face that was on the doughy side, but appeared nice enough. "Ellie," He said, speaking to the Hispanic girl, "Who we got here?"

Sam spoke up. "I'm Sam. This is Adam and Amelia."

The man held his hand out. "Oh. Carl Granville. A pleasure."

Sam shook his hand. "Pleasure. So you're not a Cassity?"

"No, my wife is. Her and her family own the place. I'm just one of those, uh—what you call 'em?" He patted his admittedly pudgy belly. "Trophy husbands." He laughed and then turned to Ellie. "So, we, uh, hiring the fellas?"

"Not sure yet," Ellie replied.

"Oh, come on. They seem like swell guys."

"Well, he's right," Amelia said. "We're swell."

Sam was pretty sure he was the only one who could hear the sarcasm in her tone, but he put on a smile anyway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adam do the same.

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

* * *

Sam gazed around the barn, trying to keep his face neutral as Ellie spoke.

"You bed down in here. Breakfast is at five, dinner is at eight, and in between, you're mine. Questions?"

"I miss my room," Adam grumbled.

"We're good," Sam said.

"Okay." Ellie looked them over. "Job is yours if you want it. But I better warn you—it's crap work."

The three of them went to head into the barn, but Ellie stopped Amelia with a hand on her arm. "Actually, I was thinking you could help me in the house for a little bit."

Amelia shrugged. "Okay."

Sam fought back a sigh. As a veterinarian, Amelia was actually the only one with an ounce of experience among the three of them. It would have been helpful to have her on hand. Still, there was no point in arguing with the boss.

* * *

Adam grimaced as he shoveled the manure. "Crap job—she literally meant crap."

"Guys!"

Sam looked up as Amelia hurried towards them. "You got something?" He asked.

Amelia nodded. "I've been talking with Ellie. She told me—"

"Amelia!"

Amelia grimaced. "That's Ellie. I'll talk with you guys later!"

She dashed off. Sam and Adam peered around the corner just in time to see Amanda join Ellie, who was talking with a good-looking dark haired woman.

"I don't care," The dark haired woman was saying. "Do I look like a hippie?"

"Organic food is better for the cattle," Ellie argued. "Amelia here was trained as a vet. She says—"

"That must be Alice," Sam noted.

"My land, my animals, my money, my way. End of story."

"Sounds like a real piece of work," Adam said.

Ellie gave a sigh and walked towards them, Amelia at her side. "I really thought if she had your opinion, she'd give in," Ellie was saying to Amelia when they reached the boys. "But she's just so stubborn."

"Must be hard to work with," Amelia said, nodding her head sympathetically.

"Yeah, but what are you going to do? She's the boss."

"We could always drink," Amelia suggested. Sam gave her a look.

Ellie tilted her head. "That actually doesn't sound half bad. But I have a few more things to take care of first. You boys good here?"

"Yes ma'am," Sam said.

Ellie headed off, indicating for Amelia to follow. Amelia gave Sam a helpless look. Sam mouthed _we'll talk later_ and Amelia followed Ellie out of the barn.

"So," Adam said. "Alice?"

"Ellie's the hired help," Sam said, thinking. "I think that rules her out. It's not like the oil would have benefited her anyway. And Carl doesn't really seem like the sell-your-soul type. So, Alice."

"Should we talk to her?" Adam asked.

Sam shook his head. "She'll probably lie to us and call the cops. I hate to say it but even when people believe in the supernatural, they don't always accept help or appreciate it when others try to help. She'll already be spooked—us talking to her would only make it worse. We'll just have to keep an eye on her."

"What about Amelia?"

"I'll let her know as soon as I can get her alone," Sam said. That would probably be easier said then done. Ellie had clearly taken a liking to Amelia and getting them away from each other wouldn't be easy—and they were running short on time.

* * *

Amelia peered through the kitchen window, looking out onto the patio. Carl and Alice were sitting on the deck chairs and having a romantic dinner—holding hands, drinking wine, the whole spiel.

"And you're sure about this?" Amelia asked.

"Yup," Ellie said, handing her another plate to dry. "Carl always loved Alice, but they got married real quick. One minute they've gone from friends to necking in the barn and the next thing I know I'm helping set up for a wedding. Couldn't have been more than a month between their first date and when they swapped rings.

"Speaking of… where's yours?"

"Huh?" Amelia turned back to stare at Ellie.

"Your ring. You and the tall one, Sam. I thought…"

"Oh. Yes. I mean… we couldn't afford anything." Amelia ducked her head down so Ellie wouldn't have to see her face and figure out she was lying. "We wanted it to be legal, even if we couldn't have the trappings yet. Sam's hoping we'll be able to settle here for a while, get enough saved up to get us something nice."

Ellie laid a hand on her shoulder. "He seems like a good guy—him and his brother both. I'm sure he'll do right by you."

"Thanks."

A bit of the Granvilles' conversation drifted in. "The whole horse?" Carl was asking.

"Oh, yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

They both laughed, and Amelia had to smile. "They're so in love, aren't they? After all this time?"

Ellie nodded. "I was never one for believing much in the true love thing, but… they've made it work."

Alice suddenly stopped in the middle of what she was saying, sitting up. Amelia listened hard. She could have sworn she heard something howling.

"Just a wolf," Carl said.

"Yeah," Alice said. She didn't sound all that convinced. "Probably spooked the hell out of the horses. I should check on them."

"Well, all right," Carl said, chuckling. "Hurry back."

"Okay."

Alice hurried off.

"I should probably go with her," Ellie said. "Finish up here and you'll be done for the night."

"Be careful," Amelia warned.

Ellie laughed lightly. "I've been keeping wolves off the horses since I was ten. I'll be fine."

The second Ellie left the kitchen, Amelia pulled her handgun out from where she'd hidden it in her boot. Keeping her footsteps light, she carefully made her way through the house. She could see Carl eating out on the porch. He didn't seem freaked out, not the way that Sam had described people when the hellhounds came. But he seemed really devoted to Alice. He might have been putting up a front to stop her from worrying.

Amelia carefully opened the door that led out onto the porch. The sound drew Carl's attention and he turned, seeing the gun in her hand.

"What are—"

There was a terrible growl and something—something Amelia couldn't see—leaped onto Carl. He fell out of the chair. "No!" He screamed.

"Look out!" Amelia raised the gun and fired. It missed, hitting the railing and she cursed. How could you hit something you couldn't see?

Blood sprayed everywhere as claws ripped into Carl, cleaving deep gashes into his body from his face to his stomach, some of it hitting Amelia like water from a sprinkler. Carl was dead instantly.

There was another low growl from the thing—the hellhound—and Amelia raised the gun in its general direction. "Sam said you only attack those you're collecting," She said, keeping her voice low and soothing as if she were talking to a spooked dog.

The hellhound growled again.

"Amelia!"

There was the sound of heavy, padding feet and she felt something huge and hairy brush past her, taking off into the night.

"Amelia!" Sam tore up the steps to the patio, breathing heavily. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. She couldn't stop looking at Carl's dead body. His eyes were still open—those small, beady eyes, like those of a chipmunk. His clothes were soaked in his blood, and those gashes—nothing on earth made gashes that deep. She'd seen tiger attack victims, and those big cats could do a number on you but not like this. Nothing like this.

"Amelia."

She felt large, warm hands slowly take the gun out from between her fingers. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.

"Hey. It's okay. It's okay."

Arms encircled her, pulling her in, keeping her safe. She was safe now.

She took in a deep breath and began to breathe again.

* * *

"God almighty," The Sheriff muttered, peering at Carl's body from underneath the sheet.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," Sam said. "Carl seemed like a good guy."

"The best," Ellie replied. She stood with her arms folded, staring down at the body. "How's Amelia doing?"

"Okay. She was shaken but it seems to have worn off. It's just her first time—she's never been to a ranch before." Sam hedged on the last bit. Amelia was an eyewitness, and that complicated things. He turned to the Sheriff. "You say his head was practically ripped off?"

"And you are?" The Sheriff replied.

"Just curious." Sam tried to make himself look as unthreatening as possible.

"He's new," Ellie explained. "He works here." Sam noticed that she didn't mention his connection to Amelia… or Amelia's involvement.

"Carl died bad—let's leave it at that." The Sheriff stood, brushing off his pants with a sigh. "They've been reintroducing wolves 'round these parts, but I never thought…"

"This wasn't a wolf," Ellie said with conviction. Sam looked at her, startled. Did she know the truth? "I got to make some phone calls. The whole family's flying in for this."

"All the Cassitys under one roof." The Sheriff whistled. "Good luck."

He headed off with the rest of the crew, taking Carl's body with them. Soon there was nothing left but a large dark stain on the wooden porch slats.

"Great, just great," Adam mumbled. "Carl signed the deal, and now he's dog food."

Sam frowned. There was something off about this. "Amelia knew," He said. "She was trying to tell us that earlier, when we were in the barn—she suspected Carl. And she went out to protect him when Ellie and Alice went to check on the horses."

Adam looked up at him. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I think we need to talk to Alice."

* * *

They found Alice in the barn, brushing a horse. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"You okay, Mrs. Granville?" Sam asked, approaching her carefully.

"Fine," Alice replied. She kept looking after the horse.

Sam looked at Adam, who frowned.

"You sure?" Sam asked.

"I really am," Alice replied, pausing in her actions. "And… I know I shouldn't be because I loved Carl—I think. I just can't remember why."

"What do you mean?" Adam asked, looking confused.

"I mean… Carl grew up around here. We went to school together, and he was always mooning over me. But I never—I used to make fun of him."

Sam had a feeling he knew where this was going. "When did you two get together?"

"Valentine's Day, 2003. I was at this party. Carl was there, and it was like I was seeing him for the first time. You know, suddenly he was cute and smart and funny. It was magic. We were happy for ten years. Now he's dead, and I'm not sad or angry. I'm just… fine."

Adam and Sam exchanged a look. "Glad to hear it," Sam said. "I mean, not that you're—I just meant—if you need anything, you let us know."

Alice nodded absentmindedly as they beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

The moment Sam and Adam entered their designated bedroom, Amelia jumped up. "Sam!" She hurried over. "Carl sold his soul—"

"For Alice," Sam finished. "We just came back from talking to her. Went from being head-over-heels in love to barely knowing the guy."

"That means that whoever sold their soul for the oil is still out there," Adam said. "Is it possible for a Crossroads demon to have made more than one deal?"

"Wouldn't be the first time in happened," Sam replied. "The whole clan's coming down for the funeral—Ellie called them up."

"But how will we keep an eye on all of them?" Amelia asked.

"We'll manage," Sam said. "I hope."

* * *

Sam stood with Ellie, Adam and Amelia as they all watched the shining black SUV pull up. It was obviously a rental and looked like it couldn't be older than last year's model. Ellie's hands were tucked into the back pockets of her jeans in an appropriately neutral stance. Her face was blank as well, but the comments she made were pretty enlightening. Amelia wasn't so hard to read—her arms were folded and her hip cocked as she surveyed the people emerging from the van with a rather critical eye. Adam appeared not to know what to think.

The first person to exit the vehicle was an older man with gray hair wearing cowboy boots, nice trousers and jacket, bolo shoestring tie, and a cowboy hat.

"Looks like a Ronald Reagan wannabe," Amelia muttered.

"Meet Noah Cassity," Ellie said. "He's seventy one, worth a billion, and just married wife number five, a twenty-year-old lingerie model."

"'Cause they have so much in common?" Adam quipped.

Sam nudged the guy. He had a mouth on him that was almost as bad as Dean's.

"Alice is the oldest," Ellie went on. "And that's Cindy, the middle girl."

The girl in question got out of the car. She was wearing a mini dress and a short white fur jacket. She greeted Alice with an affected peck on the cheek.

"She had a single on the country chart a few years ago," Ellie explained. "Then she started hitting the bottle and, well… her last album was a bunch of holiday songs for dogs. My favorites were 'Jingle Bark Rock' and 'Don't Pee on This Tree: Happy Arbor Day'."

"So she's the devil," Amelia noted.

"Pretty much," Ellie admitted.

The third and final occupant of the vehicle disembarked—this one a few years younger than Cindy, wearing a sweater and tan pants.

"That's the baby, Margot. She ran away just before Alice and Carl tied the knot—lives in Paris."

"How do you know all of this?" Sam asked.

"I've lived here since I was a kid, and I've got eyes." Ellie turned so that her back was to the family and she was facing Sam, Adam and Amelia. "Okay, tonight is an all-hands-on-deck situation. I'm gonna need one of you inside, serving dinner and pouring drinks—lots of drinks."

Amelia and Adam immediately started doing rock, paper, scissors.

"And somebody's gonna man the grill," Ellie went on. "And the third'll just have to help out with whatever's needed."

Sam nodded. "What kind of grill?"

* * *

Sam flipped the burgers, catching Amelia's eye as she grabbed another wine bottle. She rolled her eyes at him before winking and heading back into the dining room. Sam could hear them perfectly well—nobody was bothering to lower their voice.

"Adam, can you watch the grill?" Sam asked.

Adam nodded, taking over so Sam could peer in the dining room. Amelia was pouring some more red wine into Cindy's glass, stopping halfway.

"Really? Keep it coming, Mop Top," Cindy told her. The look Amelia gave the back of Cindy' shead was murderous, but she topped off the woman's glass anyway.

"You're the best, Ellie," Noah said with a wink as Ellie cleared his plate.

"Al, I'm so sorry about Carl," Margot said. Sam noticed that she wasn't really eating, only pushing the food around on her plate. "I mean, he was the love of your life."

"Right," Alice said. She didn't sound very convincing.

"Please, she can do better," Noah retorted.

"Maybe Alice should marry a child," Cindy said, spearing a piece of meat with her fork. "Take after her father."

"Ivanka's not a child."

"Right. She's a prostitute who looks like a child."

"Are you done?" Margot cut in. "Alice is in mourning."

"Oh, I'm sorry Margie, I didn't see you there—you're too far up on your high horse." Cindy laughed. "Oh, yes, but you are right—we should all take a minute and say a few words about Carl. You first." Cindy leaned in, eyes twinkling with shallow malice. "Was he a good lay?"

Amelia nearly dropped the wine bottle.

"What?" Alice whispered.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Cindy leaned back in her chair. "Yeah, Daddy caught 'em going at it in the barn."

Margot turned pleading eyes towards Alice. "Al, that was before you got together. I mean, Carl loved you."

"Yeah, that was back when Margie was fat and Cin was sober," Noah cut in. "A long time ago."

"Get cancer and die, old man," Cindy spat.

"You first, sweetie," Noah replied sarcastically.

Sam turned to Ellie, who was bringing in some cleared dishes. "Are they always like this?" He asked.

"More or less," Ellie answered.

"How can you work here?"

"I love the property, I love the animals, and I tune out the people."

Alice's voice floated in from the dining room. "Well I can't remember the last time we sat down and had a meal together."

Cindy scoffed. "It was back at the old, crappy house when Daddy invited that traveling salesman to dinner."

"Oh, him," Margo said. Sam couldn't quite decipher her tone.

"He was so charming," Alice admitted.

"Yeah, English," Cindy replied, as if that answered everything.

"What was his name?" Noah asked. "Kenny?"

"Crow," Alice said. "Like the bird."

"No, Crow, like 'ow'," Cindy corrected.

"Crowl…" Margot said, almost to herself.

Sam had a sudden, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Crowley!" All three sisters said at once.

As Dean would have said, son of a bitch.

* * *

Sam gathered them out on the porch while the Cassity family continued to eat. He explained as quickly as he could.

"Who's Crowley, exactly?" Adam asked.

"The King of Hell," Sam answered.

Amelia folded her arms. "He was the one who—"

"Yes." Sam nodded.

"So he's the Big Boss of Down Under?" Adam asked.

"Pretty much." Sam inclined his head towards the Cassity family. "Apparently he swung through town ten years ago, to the day."

"That would explain how multiple deals were made," Amelia said. "If he'd stopped into town he would have met Carl, and he would have had a chance to talk to all of the family members."

"But if he spoke with all of them then how do we know which one made the deal?" Adam asked.

"No idea," Sam admitted. "It's brutal in there."

"No kidding," Amelia grumbled.

Sam's pocket vibrated and he quickly dug his phone out of his pocket. "Hey Kev, what's up?" At Amelia's raised eyebrows, he put the phone on speaker.

"Hey, Sam," Kevin's voice warbled through the phone. "Good news, kind of, I think."

"Don't oversell it," Amelia said.

"Sorry," Kevin replied. "Um, I found something on the tablet about the Hellhounds. This mean anything to you? 'The dire creatures may be seen only by the damned or through an object scorched by holy fire'?"

"Like with holy oil?" Sam asked.

"We could use a window," Adam offered.

"Or glasses," Amelia added.

"Sounds good. We should still have some holy oil in the duffels." Sam turned the phone off of speaker and put it to his ear. "You did great, man. Get some sleep."

"Okay. Good luck."

There was a muffled noise and then suddenly an entirely different voice came over the line. "Sam?"

"Charlie?"

"Hey." Charlie sounded rather solemn. "I just sent Kevin off to bed. Look, he's not doing so well. Headaches and vomiting—I don't like the looks of this."

Sam nodded, even though Charlie couldn't see him. "Make sure he doesn't spend too long on that thing. Is Garth around?"

"Yup."

"Maybe have him take Kevin on some hunts? Just basic salt and burns. Don't let him spend more than a couple of hours on the tablet, and make sure he takes breaks. Make him get outside."

"Roger that, captain," Charlie replied.

"And look after yourself, too!" Sam added.

"Yessir!"

Sam hung up and pocketed the phone. "Okay. Adam, run back and get the holy oil. I'll find some glasses. Amelia, keep an eye on things. We can't let anyone out of our sight."

The boys headed out, and Amelia went back inside to clear the dishes. To her surprise, only Cindy and Alice were left. Cindy still had her wine glass in hand.

"Oh, look." Cindy nodded towards the window. Amelia followed her gaze and saw Noah and Margot armed with hunting rifles and moving around outside. "Daddy's drunk and armed. Must be Christmas."

Amelia took off, running right out of the dining room and towards the wayward Cassitys.

"Hey!" She shouted. "Hey, hey, hey! Where are you going?"

Noah turned back at her, frowning. "Wherever I damn well please. The wolf that killed my son-in-law—he's a man-eater. Got to be put down."

"Doing this for Carl," Margot said, tilting her chin up stubbornly.

"Okay," Amelia said, holding her hands up. Where the hell was Sam? "Just—just hold on a second."

"No," Noah said. "Going now."

Amelia looked around but saw no sign of Sam. It appeared she had no choice.

"I'll come with you."

Noah stopped walking. "You know anything about hunting, girl?"

"A little bit, yeah." At least that was the truth.

Noah nodded his head towards Margo, who handed her rifle to Amelia.

"Let's do it," the Cassity patriarch said, heading out into the woods.

Amelia let out a deep exhale.

* * *

Sam picked up the glasses they'd just passed through the holy fire, frowning at them. They didn't look any different.

"Think these'll actually work?" Adam asked.

"Only one way to find out." He passed a pair to Adam and they put them on. Looking through the glasses was like viewing the world through cellophane—everything was changed and muted.

"See anything?" He asked.

"No." Adam took off his glasses and blinked rapidly. "But it sure felt weird. Is this how angels see things?"

"Good question." Sam took off his own glasses.

"Hey boys," Ellie called out.

They both turned to look at her. "You off to bed?" Sam asked.

"In just a minute." Ellie put a hand on her hip and gazed at them for a moment. "You know," she said to Adam, "It's a pity you're not a little older."

Adam blinked. "What?"

"Look after yourselves, boys," Ellie said, walking away. "And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Get Amelia a real nice ring. For me."

They watched her as she walked away. "What do you suppose that was about?" Adam asked.

"I wish I knew," Sam admitted.

* * *

Amelia didn't like the feeling she was getting, walking in the woods. She'd never had one of those skin-crawling moments before and as a result hadn't really understood it, but she was definitely getting it now. It was like someone had placed live wires between the top layer of her skin and flipped the switch.

A branch snapped.

Amelia yanked the rifle up and whirled towards the sound. She moved as quietly as she could, watching her steps, alert for any sign of movement. She knew she wouldn't be able to see the creature itself, but if she watched for moving braches or foliage…

There was the sound of a rifle cocking and she found a barrel shoved in front of her face. She gasped before realizing what it was and grabbed the rifle barrel, shoving it down.

"Watch yourself, girl," Noah said. "Where's Margie?"

A cold chill, like an ice cube, ran down her spine. "I thought she was with you."

Margie's scream seemed to tear the very fabric of the air. Amelia's feet were moving before she even registered exactly what was happening, nearly running into a couple of trees in her haste. She could hear Noah right behind her, breathing heavily with the exertion.

They found her in a clearing, the hellhound still tearing into her. Amelia raised her rifle and aimed.

"Got you now you bastard," She muttered.

She fired.

Blood sprayed out from the wound and she heard the beast give a yelp of pain.

"Oh my god," Noah yelled. "No!"

Amelia grabbed a fistful of his shirt and started shoving him away from Margot's body. Noah fought her every step of the way. "Go!" She shouted. "Get out of here! Move!"

"No," Noah wailed.

"It's too late for her, can't you see?" Amelia demanded. "She's dead already!"

In response, Noah sank to the ground with a whimper.

"Well, shit," Amelia said.

And Margie had been the only one she'd actually liked.

* * *

Dragging Noah back to the house was a two-man job—one that Sam and Adam had taken up while Amelia escorted them, gun at the ready. Sam had to admit, he was impressed with Amelia's ability to hit the creature. Score one for them.

They rounded up Alice and Cindy and put them in the living room with Noah. All three looked rather in shock.

"What…" Noah swallowed and tried again. "What was that thing?"

"It was a Hellhound," Sam explained. "When you sell your soul to a demon, they're the ones that come and rip it out of you."

Cindy made a distressed noise.

"Demon?" Alice sounded indignant.

"Crowley, the traveling salesman who visited you ten years ago. He's a demon. If you didn't make a deal with him then you have nothing to worry about—the hellhound won't come after you. But if you did we need to know now so we can take care of it."

"So, wait," Noah stuttered as he tried to piece things together. "You're saying the—the British guy, he, he was a demon and—and now there's a hellhound after us? Are, are you insane?"

"Obviously," Cindy snorted.

"Don't play dumb," Amelia snapped.

"I'm not playing," Cindy snapped back. "I didn't sell my damn soul. If anyone did, it was Alice."

"Excuse me?" Affronted hardly described the depth of Alice's facial expression. "What about you, Miss America's Sweetheart? We all know that country single wasn't from talent!"

"Like you're in any position to judge," Cindy retorted.

"Okay," Sam said loudly. "If none of you will admit to selling your soul, we're going to have to seal you all in."

"What?" Alice protested.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. These people were exhausting. It almost made him wish for the arguments Dean and Dad would have. "Look, I'm going to spread goofer dust around the doors and windows. That will keep the hellhound out for a while."

"What is that—how long?" Noah seemed unable to figure out which question to ask first.

"Long enough, I hope," Sam answered. "Adam, cuff them."

"What?" All three Cassitys shouted at once.

Sam held in a sigh. "Look, when you have a hellhound after you, you start seeing and hearing things. It's like you're on acid. We think maybe it's to make you easier prey for the hellhound—but who knows. The handcuffs are so you don't hurt yourselves."

The Cassitys reluctantly allowed Adam and Amelia to handcuff them.

"I don't…" Alice glared at Adam as he handcuffed her. "Who are you people?"

"We're here to help," Sam said.

"Like you helped Margie?" Cindy said.

"Believe it or not, lady, Margie was the only one of you I liked," Amelia said as she cuffed Cindy. "So shut it."

"Right," Sam pulled out his glasses. "Amelia, keep an eye on them."

"You mean I have to stay with these psychos?" Amelia gestured at the Cassitys.

Sam pulled her aside. "I'm not letting you go out there and get killed. You've been up against this thing twice already."

Amelia glanced back at the others. "These people are absolutely nuts, Sam. I'm going to tear my hair out if I have to listen to them much longer."

"And I'm saying I don't want you in any danger," Sam replied. "You'll be safe here."

Amelia gazed at him for a moment, and then nodded. "Fine. But you owe me for this one."

"Okay. Next time you get to gank the bad guy."

Amelia grinned and kissed him on the cheek. "You really know how to sweet talk a girl, Sam Winchester," she teased.

"All right," Sam raised his voice. "We're going to see if we can take care of this thing. In the meantime, if any of you remembers, you know, selling their soul, you let Amelia know."

Adam put on his glasses and they headed out into the dark.

* * *

"You sold your soul," Cindy snapped at her father. "Admit it."

"Why the hell would you think that?"

"Because you're a walking corpse and you're married to a centerfold. I did the math."

"She likes money, and I'm rich. Do it again. You sing like crap, so explain the music career."

"Hello, auto-tune!"

"All right!" Amelia yelled. She could feel the beginnings of a headache starting up behind her temple. "That's enough!"

"Is it?" Cindy snapped. "Is it enough?"

"I don't know why you even think one of us made a deal," Noah said.

Amelia nearly brained herself on the wall at their stupidity. "You struck oil where there was no oil. That didn't seem weird to you?"

"Margie," Alice finally spoke, as if emerging from some kind of deep trance. "Margie used to say that—that if we were rich, we'd all be happy."

Noah scoffed. "Right. We're the damn Waltons."

Amelia groaned, but silence mercifully reigned for a few moments. Until…

"I need to take a leak." Noah complained.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Hold it."

"Yeah, at my age?" Noah retorted. "Not really an option, so either you let me go or get me a bottle."

"Ugh," Cindy curled her upper lip. "You're disgusting."

A faint growling sound came from outside and Amelia went to the window. It would be just her luck for the thing to come while she was alone _again_.

There was a clanking sound and she whirled around just in time to see Alice dash through the door, slamming it behind her.

"Wait!"

Amelia ran as fast as she could after Alice, who managed to reach her car. Both women froze as they heard the hellhound growling. Amelia swallowed. It was no more than ten feet from Alice.

"No," Alice whimpered. "No, no, please. Just let me go, please."

"C'mon," Amelia held out her hand. "Come to me. Hurry."

"I can't," Alice sobbed. "I can't, I—please, don't hurt my family. Don't hurt me. Please. Please just leave us alone!"

"It's okay, Alice." Amelia reached out and took the woman's hand. "I got you. I'm going to get you back to your family. You're all going to be okay."

The hellhound growled again.

"Oh, God…" Alice sobbed.

"Go!" Amelia shouted. "You have to go now!"

Alice took off for the house. Amelia kept the gun raised at where she thought the hellhound was, backing up as quickly as she could. The second she heard the door close, Amelia turned and booked it for the house.

* * *

They were in the barn when Adam heard it.

"Wait."

Sam stopped walking and paused, looking at Adam. "What is it?"

"You hear that?"

Sam listened. Sure enough, through Ellie's door came the sound of music.

_I'd do anything for you… I don't want anybody else…_

Sam stepped up to the barn, Adam following, and opened the door.

Ellie was dancing to the music, drinking from a bottle of beer, and wearing a lacy camisole.

_When I think about you I touch myself…_

Sam went over and turned off the stereo player. Ellie stopped dancing and turned around, surprised.

"Just in time," She told them.

"Ellie," Sam frowned as he took in her disheveled state. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good."

"Okay," Sam said slowly as Adam watched the door. "Listen. Whatever you hear, you need to stay in here with that door locked. Sit tight, all right?"

"This is going to sound crazy," Adam said, "But there is something evil out there."

"I know," Ellie replied, sitting on the bed.

"You know?" Sam asked.

Ellie nodded. "It's coming for me."

Sam stared. Ellie took that as her cue to talk, and began.

"When my parents split up, my mom took a job here. This was before the Cassitys had money, but it was the best she could do. I grew up on this farm."

"That's how you met Crowley?" Sam asked.

"They had this big dinner, and after, I saw him kissing Margie. I ran. I didn't know what to do. But Crowley found me. We talked." Ellie shrugged. "He seemed so nice."

"The best con men always do," Adam muttered. Sam winced inwardly. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out of whom Adam was thinking.

"He asked me, if I could have one wish, what would it be? So I told him."

"And he made you sign over your soul," Sam finished.

Ellie looked up at him, eyes glowing with defiance. "He didn't make me do anything. My mom—she had Parkinson's—early stages, and I knew how that story would end. So I took the deal. Ma is retired down in Phoenix now, plays golf every day."

"That was a stupid move, Ellie," Adam admitted.

"I did it for my mom," Ellie replied. "What would you do for your mom?"

Adam fell silent at that.

"You had to know this was coming," Sam said.

"No. How?"

"Crowley didn't tell you about the ten-year part?"

"What?" Ellie stood up. "I knew that when I died I wasn't going to Heaven, but he never said anything about that, or monsters."

"He probably didn't say jack to Carl or Margot, either," Adam added.

"Margie made a deal?" Ellie's eyes went wide. "So she's…"

"She's gone," Sam told her.

"Oh, God. I…" Ellie sat back down heavily on the bed. "A few years ago Carl got drunk. He told me he did some kind of magic at a crossroads—summoned a demon. I put two and two together, when I saw what that thing did to him. I just never knew about Margie. I thought I was next."

"And you didn't run?" Sam asked.

"Where would I run to?" Ellie countered. "All I wanted was one last meal, some good tunes, and maybe…" She trailed off. "I don't want to die."

Howling echoed in the distance and Ellie gasped, fear flooding her face as she gazed at Sam. "You—your face. What's happening to your face?"

Sam held his hands in front of his face to calm her. "Ellie, whatever you're seeing, it's not real. It means the hellhound is close." He pulled out more goofer dust. "Look, you need to stay inside this circle, okay? Now."

Ellie stepped inside the circle. "Sam…"

"No matter what happens, you stay inside that circle. Understand?"

Ellie nodded.

Sam looked over at Adam. "Time to go."

They exited Ellie's room cautiously, closing the door behind them. The barn appeared silent and empty. They stood, tense and waiting.

Suddenly a low growl sounded towards the open barn door. Sam turned—and he saw it.

Through the distortion of the glasses he could see the hellhound. It was—it was huge. Bigger than any dog or wolf he'd ever seen. Its fur was dark and almost looked like tendrils of smoke or ash from a fire, its haunches raised and eyes glowing like coals. Its muzzle was stuffed with ghostly glowing teeth, and it seemed almost… insubstantial, in a way, like some kind of illusion, an image placed on top of a scene in a film. It was a creature of smoke and smoldering coals.

"You see it?" Adam asked.

Sam nodded. "Go left. I'll distract it."

He felt Adam move away, keeping his eyes trained on the hound. "Hey," He called out. The hound turned towards him, baring its teeth. "What are you waiting for? Come and get it!"

That was probably a very stupid idea in retrospect. The hellhound leapt, clawing at Sam's left side and throwing him into a wall. The force of the blow knocked his glasses off and dazed him, blurring his vision. He pressed his hand against the wound—it came away bloody.

The hellhound stomped towards him, feet making large imprints in the dust. Sam couldn't see the creature itself with the glasses gone, but he could sure see its breath. Suddenly there was a gunshot and blood spewed out of the hellhound. It whined in pain, turning towards the source of the noise. Adam readied his gun and shot the hellhound again. It whined and growled once more, attention focused solely on Adam now.

Sam heard but couldn't see the hellhound leave the ground as it charged at Adam, knocking him flat onto the ground and landing on top, pinning him. Adam struggled to hold off the hellhound with one hand, while he yanked a knife out of his pocket—Ruby's demon killing knife.

Black blood bathed Adam in a wave as he slit the hellhound's belly, cutting the creature. He was absolutely coated in the stuff.

There was an "oomph" from Adam as the dead hellhound collapsed on top of him, and with some difficulty he rolled it off. They looked at each other. Adam tried to say something, but it only came out as a gasp.

Sam's eyes rolled back into his head as he blacked out.

* * *

"Macho idiots," Amelia muttered.

Sam blinked, slowly returning to consciousness. What had…?

With a start, Sam realized that he was bandaged up, lying on Ellie's bed. He struggled to sit.

"Whoa there, easy," Ellie said, helping him to sit upright. "You need to go to a hospital."

"I've had worse," Sam assured her.

Ellie looked over at Amelia and Adam—the former of which was examining the latter for injuries. Adam just shook his head. "Trust me, he's had worse."

Ellie looked from one to the other and seemed to decide it was best not to argue. "So, what now?"

"We'll make you a hex bag," Sam explained. "But I'm afraid you'll have to go on the run. If Crowley can't find you, then he won't be able to send another hellhound after you."

"So I'm not going to Hell?" Ellie asked.

Amelia shot Sam a look. "Will you give us a minute?"

"Sure," Elle said, standing and leaving the room.

Amelia folded her arms. "Sam, even if she can dodge Crowley, as soon as she dies her soul is earmarked for Hell."

"Then we'll just have to close the Gates first," Adam argued.

Sam gestured towards Adam. "He has a point."

Amelia looked towards where Ellie had just been. "I just… I just hope…" She shook her head, declining to finish the sentence.

* * *

Amelia bought the motel room for them (two beds) since Adam was covered in blood and Sam couldn't walk on his own. They did their best to get into the room without being seen, and it took all of Sam's willpower not to simply collapse onto the bed first thing.

"You got the incantation?" He asked instead.

Adam dug the piece of paper out of his pocket. Kevin had written the incantation down in Enochian along with a phonetic translation for proper pronunciation. Staring down at the paper, Adam cleared his throat.

"Kah-nuh-ahm-dar."

Adam doubled over in pain.

"Adam?" Sam grabbed him to keep the kid from falling over.

"I'm okay," Adam replied. "I'm okay."

"You sure about that?" Amelia asked dryly.

"I think I just need some sleep," Adam insisted.

Sam looked over at Amelia, who was arching her eyebrows incredulously. "How about you take a shower first?" She suggested.

Adam nodded and staggered off to the bathroom. As soon as they could hear the sound of water running Amelia sat down on one of the beds. "I don't like the look of this," she admitted.

"He'll be fine," Sam replied.

Amelia shook her head, curls bouncing. "This is dangerous, Sam. I don't think the trials are designed for the person to survive. I think Adam is signing his death warrant."

"And I think there's got to be a light at the end of this tunnel," Sam said. "God created these trials so that someone could close the Gates of Hell. That's a good thing. You'd get a reward for that, right? Not death."

"From what you've told me about your experiences, Sam, God isn't exactly fair," Amelia said.

Sam had to admit she was right on that front, but he couldn't believe that the reward for ridding the world of demons was death and pain. It just wasn't right.

"I think—"

"I know it's kind of a weird time to discuss it," Amelia said, cutting him off, "But we pretended to be married for Ellie and it just got me thinking."

Sam stared at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about, when Adam opened the bathroom door. Sam realized that Amelia must have heard the water turning off and was changing the subject in case Adam heard anything.

"It won't be anything big," Sam said, struggling to catch up. "And getting a license will be hard seeing as I'm technically on the FBI's Most Wanted list at least three times."

"We'll figure something out," Amelia replied. Adam, sensing this was a couple's discussion, wisely didn't intrude.

"Goodnight," Sam said as Adam climbed into bed.

"Night," Adam replied.

Sam jerked his head towards the door, indicating that they go outside. Amelia followed him and they stood out on the motel balcony, keeping their voices low.

"Are you seriously thinking about marriage?" Sam asked.

"Of course I am, why—wait. That's not a conversation for now." Amelia folded her arms. "Adam's the priority. Truth of it is we're going in blind. We don't know what's in store. We don't even know what the next two trials are."

"Kevin's working on it."

"And he's getting nosebleeds and headaches and who knows what else. That's a good sign."

"Look." Sam put his hands on Amelia's shoulders. "We might not know what's ahead. But we're a team and we're going to get through this. Dean and I had only two guys on our team and we managed to avert the Apocalypse. Adam's strong, and he wants to do this. He needs us to support him, not second-guess or coddle him."

Amelia looked over towards where Adam was sleeping. "I'm trusting you on this," She said, "Because you know this world and I don't and you've never given me any reason not to trust you. But I still don't like it, Sam. I have a bad feeling about this."

Sam nodded. "And we'll be careful."

He hugged her, letting her bury her face into his chest.

"I just want everything to be okay," Amelia admitted.

"Me too." Sam kissed the top of her head. "Me too."


	8. Once on This Island

**An angel, a hunter, and a vampire walk into a bar…**

**In other words, Team Purgatory is back together.**

* * *

The docks were dark and silent, as they always were at this time of night. The man walking along them felt no fear, humming to himself as he moved along the boards, giving each boat a cursory once-over as he passed.

A figure stepped out behind him and the man paused as his instincts told him, with sudden terrible certainty, that he was not alone.

He turned.

"Hello, Quentin."

Quentin's face registered complete shock. "Benny. No, it—it can't be you."

Benny Lafitte smiled. "I get the confusion. You of all people knew I was really, truly dead. After all, you held down my legs, didn't know? When the old man told Serano to saw off my head? Where is he?"

"Are you serious?" Quentin asked. "Did you really think I'd tell you where he is?"

Benn drew a long knife out from among is clothing, letting it catch the light. "Well I guess I was kind of hoping you wouldn't."

"On the other hand, I might show you where he is."

Two men stepped out of the shadows and walked up behind Benny, boxing him in.

"After me and my boys take off your hands and feet."

"Well, don't go through all that trouble on my account," Benny drawled.

Quentin snorted. "Please. You crawl out of God's ass for another ride on the merry-go-round? The old man's gonna want to see this for himself."

Benny seemed to consider this. "Mm. Well, they might be able to kill me. And that's all right. 'Cause if they do, I know exactly where I'm going—and who I'll see when I get there."

Quentin's fangs descended and he snarled, but Benny was faster. He lunged, cutting off Quentin's head in one smooth, practiced motion. Before the vampire's head had even hit the ground, Benny was turning to the other two. He saw the knives they were holding and grinned.

"You want to dance, then?" He asked.

* * *

At first, Dean had no idea what the sound was. He'd been a light sleeper his entire life—by product of being a hunter—but since he'd started sharing a bed with Cas his sleep had been deep and relaxing and he often found himself groggy as he woke up.

Especially when it was—he looked at the clock. Four thirty in the goddamn morning. Son of a bitch.

Dean groped for the phone, trying not to disturb Cas, who was slumbering on Dean's chest. He pressed the talk button and pressed the phone to his ear, his fingers lazily carding through Cas's hair as he did so. "Hello?"

"Dean…"

"Benny?"

"Dean—you, um, got a minute? Afraid I messed up, buddy."

"What did you do?"

"No, man, not like that."

Benny outlined what had happened and Dean had to stop himself from sitting up and dislodging Cas. "I'm sorry—you took on _how_ many? Are you crazy?"

"Hey," Benny replied. "See, the thing is, my legs—they ain't working so good. There's, uh… a fuel barge not too far from here. I'm pretty sure I can make it at a slow crawl. I was kind of hoping maybe I could ask you for one more favor?"

Dean listened to Benny's instructions. "Got it. We'll get there as soon as we can. Just hang on."

"I appreciate it, brother."

Dean hung up and looked down at the angel, still sleeping away.

* * *

"I don't understand," Cas said as they pulled up to the docks. "Why you insisted on driving."

"Because it's—you know what, never mind." Dean parked the car and nodded at the ice chest in the backseat. "Let's grab that and go."

They carefully carried the ice chest over to the fuel barge, keeping their weapons at the ready. "Benny!" Dean called.

There was no answer.

"He's probably inside," Cas said.

They found him at the bottom of a flight of steps, mangled and leaning against a wall. Dean crouched down next to him as Cas opened the ice chest. "You know," Dean said, "You're not looking so good."

Benny chuckled. "Up yours."

"I can heal your wounds so as not to waste this blood," Cas said, holding up a blood bag. "You can save this for another time when I can't be on hand."

Benny shook his head. "It's okay—"

"Dude, you're double hamstrung," Dean said.

"Yeah, well, a little rest, a half a cooler of AB negative—most wounds short of an amputation will mend up… vampirically speaking."

"Uh-huh, yeah. You're letting Cas mojo you up."

Benny rolled his eyes but stayed still as Cas cupped his hands around the wound, letting his Grace pour out of his palms and into the vamp's body. When Cas stepped back, the vampire was as good as new.

"Whoa." Benny stood, looking down at himself. "That's pretty strong stuff there."

"Benny," Dean said. "What's going on?"

"Oh, your work here is done, Dean. You already saved the day. You know, I got my, uh, deal and you got—what'd you call it? A family business?"

"Benny." Dean was not letting this go. "What's going on?"

Benny sighed. "You and that whole friend thing, man." He shook his head. "Well, it's good to know you're still dumb as ever."

"Yeah, well, some things never change. Now, why are you getting into machete fights with your own kind?"

"Quentin, the one I came for? We were in the same nest. I'm hunting the vampire who turned me, my maker."

That took Dean aback. "Well, now, don't get me wrong. I'm down with the hunting but, uh… why?"

"Kill him before he kills me, again," Benny said.

"Well, you're not doing it alone," Dean said.

Benny chuckled. "Like I'm letting you get mixed up in this, brother. This guy's the head honcho."

Cas frowned. "You mean he's the boss?"

"More than that," Benny drawled. "He's the Alpha."

* * *

Dean picked up the small notebook, frowning at what was written in it. Cas was cocking his head and examining the various coins scattered over the table—some of them hundreds of years old.

"Quentin and I went way back," Benny said. "One of the old man's favorites, next to me, it turns out."

Dean pointed at the notebook. "Listen to this: _Age of Aquarius, 0800_. Then there's some other numbers, all crossed out. Some other weird names here, too—the Big Mermaid, Solitaire—it's all crossed out, except this one, the _Lucky Myra_.

"Yachts," Benny said, taking the notebook from Dean. "Names of yachts—_Lucky Myra_… _Age of Aquarius II._ Look at this one—_Sea You Later_, spelled s-e-a. I mean, come on."

Benny set the notebook down and Dean pointed to it. "So, then these are launch times. And what—destinations?"

"Mm-hmm. Except none of them ever got there." He opened the notebook again and pointed. "The _Lucky Myra_ left yesterday afternoon. I guarantee you it's already been hit."

"What do you mean, 'hit'?" Cas asked, finally showing interest in the conversation.

"Boarded, burned, and buried at sea. My nest—that's how we fed... How we always fed. We kept a tight little fleet, maybe a half-dozen boats. Nothing ostentatious, just pleasure craft. I must have circled the Americas ten times during my tour. A few of us would act as stringers and patrol the harbors, looking for the right-size target—fat, rich yachts going to far-off ports. Take down the boat's name and destination, radio it to the crew in the water. And then we just, uh, let the ocean swallow up all our sins."

"Vampire pirates?" Dean said. "That's what you guys are? Vampirates?"

Benny chuckled. "You know, all the years we ran together, I can't believe nobody ever thought of that.

"What do you mean? It's the third thing you say."

"No, it isn't."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Cas said. "Is that a reference to something? Vampirates?"

"All right," Dean said. "So your maker is the Alpha Vampire. The one you all call Daddy. How did he figure into this?"

"Well he always had a lot going on—deals with other Alphas, things like that—but he liked to spend the summer months with us. We were his version of a vacation, I guess. He likes to live in style, and usually rents legitimately. Always remote, always coastal."

Dean leaned forwards, picking a piece of paper off of the table from among Quentin's things. "So an island, maybe? Quentin's got the NFL package. Prentiss Island. Heard of it?"

"Oh, yeah."

* * *

Nighttime found them driving along in Baby, Cas sprawled out in the backseat as he read through the pile of books he'd brought from the Bunker, trying to find out more about the Angel Tablet. Benny was in the front passenger seat and Dean—well, Dean was curious.

"So if you were the Alpha's favorite," he began.

"Next to Emily, anyway, but she was different," Benny interrupted.

Dean snorted. That girl was something, all right. "Why'd he kill you?"

Benny stared out the window, watching the rolling land as it slid past the window. "When you get turned, it's like you're reborn into a vampire nest. Your maker—he means everything to you. I mean, you really start believing he's God. Now, if your maker happens to believe the same thing, well…"

"See how that would be a pickle."

"The Alpha… he kept us apart from the rest of the world. We were close—we were family—but we didn't know much of anything else. I always did what was best for the nest… until I met her. Andrea Kormos. Beautiful. I mean, words don't even cut it, you know? Greek, heiress."

"Come on."

"She was sailing a forty-two foot sloop to the Canary Islands. Now, I should have called her boat's destination in to my crew, but instead, I joined her on it."

"Seriously? Was Fabio on the cover of that paperback?"

Cas frowned at them. "Who is Fabio? Another vampire?"

"Ignore the smartass here," Benny said, flipping Dean off. "My life changed when she entered it, Dean. Everything I had been or done up to that point just seemed to vanish into what we had become together. I mean, we found it, man. Eventually, we settled in Louisiana. And then one night, we were coming home, and Alpha—he was just there. Quentin, Serano, my oldest nestmates. It was only that night I understood what a crime it was to him—me leaving him. They pinned me down, and they beheaded me. The last thing I saw was the old man tearing out Andrea's throat."

"Well, that's what payback's all about—am I right?"

Benny ignored Dean's quip. "Docks are up ahead. Should be able to find a dinghy to use."

Dean understood what that meant: conversation over. Not that he could really blame the guy. It had taken a lot more than that to get Dean to tell Benny half of what had gone down between him and Cas to land them in Purgatory. Best course of action was to just let Benny talk about it in his own time.

"Cas," Dean raised his voice. "We're here."

* * *

They made it to the island safely enough, securing the boat and keeping under the cover of the trees.

"Remind you of anything?" Benny asked as they stalked through the woods.

Dean didn't reply, merely drawing his machete. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cas get out his angel blade.

"It's weird being back," Benny went on. "In the world, I mean. Isn't it?"

"Sure as hell is," Dean agreed. It hit him then that Benny wasn't taking the transition back to earth so well. Dean had Cas to help him, plus Sam to look after and friends he could fall back on. Benny had no one.

"I mean, what do you do with it all? All the—everything? Hell, I don't even know if this world is real, if I'm real."

"I assure you," Cas said, "We are most definitely on earth."

"Hey." Dean grabbed Benny's shoulder and turned him so they were facing. "Listen to me. I've seen what happens down that rabbit hole, okay? We're real. Benny, this is real. It's the only way to play this game, you get me?"

Benny stared at him, and Dean could see something lost and dark in his eyes. "I get you, brother."

* * *

The house was far too quiet.

"I don't like the looks of this," Dean muttered. "We haven't seen one guard, one vamp this entire time."

They were currently in a long, lavish hallway. "This place is quite large," Cas said. "Perhaps we would be more productive if we split up."

"No," Dean argue. "No, way. We're sticking together on this one, just like in Purgatory."

Benny shrugged. "Whatever you say."

Cas stopped so suddenly that Dean nearly ran into him. "Do you hear that?"

Dean craned his ears. "Sounds like talking."

Machete drawn, he followed the sound until he came to a room with light leaking out from under the door. "Cas?" He whispered. "Can you be in there without them seeing you?"

"Yes," Cas replied. Dean blinked and the angel was gone.

"Dean."

Dean physically jumped. Cas had returned in less than a second. "What's going on?"

"The Alphas," Cas said. "All of them. They're in there."

Dean's blood ran cold. "All of them?"

"Yes. The Alpha Djinn, Alpha Skinwalker—and others."

This whole thing just got bigger than he'd anticipated.

"Cas?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"When Crowley killed the Alpha Shapeshifter and the Alpha Werewolf… were there any more?"

Cas pondered this for a moment. "There are a few werewolves so far removed from the Alpha bloodline that they survived, but many died when he did. All of the shapeshifters are dead upon the death of the Alpha as they are born and not converted."

"So in theory, if we kill these Alphas, their 'children' will either be wiped out entirely or reduced to really small numbers?"

"Yes."

"Son of a bitch." Dean glanced towards the door. Whatever the Alpha Vampire was planning, it had to be big. "You think they're trying to finish what Eve started?"

"The Leviathan were their main competition," Cas said. "Now that they are gone, they have the best opportunity."

"Okay." Dean nodded. "So, how do we kill them?"

Cas's brow creased as he thought. "Well, in theory my Grace—or any power from Heaven, such as my angel blade—will work on them."

"That's one against… what, how many? Ten?" Dean tried to think of how many monsters he and Sam had fought over the years.

"There were at least fifty in there."

Dean swore, and then realized something else. "Cas?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"Where's Benny?"

* * *

Benny went to follow Dean but paused in the main room, gazing at the grand piano. There was a framed picture sitting on top of it, showing a lovely woman in a white dress.

"No," He breathed. "No… no…"

Someone descended the stairs in front of him. He looked up. She was just as beautiful as he'd remembered. Large eyes, olive skin and long, thick hair.

"Benny?" The woman asked.

"Andrea," He whispered.

He never saw the man come up from behind him, but he felt the blow just before it knocked him out.

From the other side of the wall listening in, Dean swore. "Idiot," He whispered.

"What do we do?" Cas asked.

Dean weighed their options. "Are you okay handling the Alphas yourself?" He asked.

Cas nodded. "There isn't much that you could do to help, since you don't possess any Grace."

"I have an angel blade."

"Then you can jump in and help when you rescue Benny." Cas leveled his gaze at him. "That is what you're planning on, isn't it?"

Dean felt sheepish. "Yeah. I wouldn't have gotten you out if it weren't for him. I owe him. And, uh," He coughed. "He's not the only guy who's been an idiot for, uh, y'know."

To Dean's shock, Cas kissed him. It wasn't much—just a quick press of lips—and then the guy was gone, but still.

"Sap," Dean whispered, ignoring the hot feeling in his cheeks.

* * *

When Benny came to, it was to find he was handcuffed to a chair. Someone bent over from behind him.

"Gonna make me do this all over again, aren't you?"

Benny knew that voice. "Hello, Serano." Jealous bastard had always hated Benny's guts. He must have taken Benny's place when the old man had ordered him killed.

He looked over at Andrea. "He turned you."

Andrea nodded. "Serano, go," She instructed. "Tell Alpha that it's true."

"But he said not to be disturbed," Serano objected. "All of the Alphas are here. He's been planning this for months."

All of the Alphas? What the hell did that mean?

Andrea looked at Serano the way Benny imagined queens looked at their slaves. After a second of hesitation, Serano nodded and left.

"He listens to you?" Benny asked. He was surprised.

"It's been a long time," Andrea replied. "Our father has come to trust my judgment over Serano's. I answer only to him."

"Well, sleeping with God has to have some perks."

He expected the slap, but it still hurt. Even looking at her hurt.

"Yes, it does." Andrea turned to the other two vampires. "Make sure the old man has everything he needs. I'm sure he'll want to deal with Benny personally once his meeting is up."

The two vampires nodded and left, closing the door behind them.

In a flash Andrea was roughly pulling him forwards, stroking his face and kissing him. He couldn't help it—he kissed her back.

"Benny." She spoke in the tone that he remembered now—her real voice, sweet and thick as honey. "When I heard you were back, I don't know, somehow… I knew it was true. I had to believe it, to hope."

"Andrea." She was in his lap, her arms around him. "What happened? The old man said he was gonna bleed you dry."

"I don't know. He changed his mind. I blacked out and when I woke up, I was drinking from his wrist."

"I'm sorry. All this is because of me. I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault." She stopped kissing him and pulled back, holding his face in her hands. "You never hid anything from me, Benny. I chose you."

"But why'd you stay? With them, with him? Why?"

"You remember what it's like at first." Andrea looked down at her lap, looking like she was going to fall apart just by talking about it. "Everything resets. Life is blood. That's all. And whoever gives it to you—"

"I know. It's complicated." He sighed. "Every damn thing is complicated."

Hurriedly, fingers fumbling, Andrea took a large clasp knife from her waistband and held it out to him.

"It doesn't have to be," She whispered.

"Andrea."

"Benny," She sounded so broken. "I can't kill him." She tucked the knife into his jacket. "None of us can. But you—you came back from the grave! You're proof that he's not all-powerful, that he's not God! He's scared of you, Benny. I know it."

He felt the key to the handcuffs being pressed into his hand.

"You understand that I came to burn his operation to the ground," He told her. "To stop the killing."

"Do what you came for," She whispered. "And we can be together." She hugged him tightly. "Finally, we'll be together."

A door opened and Andrea slipped off his lap, moving to stand away from him.

"He's called a recess," Serano informed her. "He wants Benny brought to him."

* * *

Castiel was long used to moving about the mortal realm without being seen. He had spent millennia observing humans and the like before revealing himself to Dean Winchester and casting his lot in with the hunter. He entered the meeting room without being seen, and he waited and watched.

The Alpha Vampire was standing at the head of a long table, with all of the other Alphas seated. One or two of them had an assistant or lieutenant with them, standing behind their master's chair. A young girl with dark hair sat at the Alpha Vampire's feet, letting him stroke her hair with long fingers as she dozed. Castiel wasn't sure what they were discussing, nor did he care. All he needed was an opportunity.

Their Father had not done much for the angels in the past few millennia, but he had endowed them with Grace. It was this power, flowing though them like blood in a human, that gave angels the power to heal or to harm. And just as angels could heal any wound with that power, so could they kill anything. Save an especially powerful demon or archangel, both of which were sprung from the same source as the angels and would therefore be rather like asking a gun to shoot itself.

Another vampire entered the room and whispered something in the Alpha's ear. His face showed no response to the information, but he held up a hand to stop whatever Alpha was speaking.

The Alpha Vampire rose deliberately, his fingertips touching the tabletop. "Please forgive me, brothers. One of my children has need of me. I shall return shortly."

The other Alphas murmured understanding and the Alpha vampire left the room, the girl relocating to a small, cushy chair in the back corner where she promptly fell asleep. Feeling a sense of dramatics, Castiel made his way to the head of the table where the vampire had so recently been standing. He felt his angel blade in his hand, and something more—the rush of battle.

It had been millennia since the battles against Lucifer's hordes, and over four years since he had sliced his way through hundreds of demons to reach the soul of the Righteous Man, but Castiel did not forget. He was a Seraph, created to be a warrior, a holy gladiator in the service of Heaven.

He raised his blade, and let himself be seen.

* * *

Dean made his way through the house, which was easier said than done. How many damn rooms did this thing have? He had to kill two vamps because he walked into the wrong rooms before finally finding the one Benny was in.

Unfortunately, it was also the one that the Alpha was in.

This created several questions, none of which Dean could answer. If the Alpha Vampire was in there with Benny, then where were the other Alphas? Where was Cas in relation to said Alphas? Had Cas done the job already while the Alpha Vampire was in here or had he been surrounded?

"Hello, father," Benny drawled.

"Benny." Dean grimaced. The Alpha sounded just like he remembered. "I have no words."

"Now, I know that ain't true," Benny responded. Dean could practically see the sass dripping from the guy's voice.

"Can you help us understand?" The Alpha said. Judging by the sound of the creaking floorboards, the guy was pacing. "I know you don't owe us anything, but how? How are you here, standing in front of me?"

"I found a way back," Benny replied.

"From Hell?"

"Right next door, far as I could tell."

Dean wished he knew how many people were in there.

"Next door? Where's that?"

"Oh, I guess I'll just have to show you."

"I know it won't change anything, but I regretted having you killed. When it was all done, I wailed when I saw you in all those pieces. Didn't I, Serano?"

Okay, so there were at least three in there: Benny, the Alpha, and this Serano person.

"Didn't I, Serano? Didn't I wail like the ugliest baby in the world?"

Emily was probably in there too, come to think of it. She was never far from her 'Daddy'.

"Yes, father," Serano replied. "That's when you decided to turn his cow."

"Poor So-So is bitter because your so-called cow outranks him now."

"Why didn't you let her die?" Benny asked. "She meant nothing to you."

Who was this 'she' they were talking about? Dean adjusted his grip on the machete.

"But she meant everything to you. If that's all I could salvage of my wayward son—the woman he defied his maker for—I wanted someone to remember you by."

"Daddy—" Yup, that was Emily.

"Tell the others that if they're impatient, there are some humans in the cellar for them to enjoy."

"No, it's that—they're—they're dead."

"What?"

The Alpha's voice was deadly quiet. Dean could only imagine the stiffness of everyone in the room as they waited for what came next.

"Search the house. All of you. Go."

There was the sound of hustling feet and then silence. Dean breathed a sigh. So Cas had done his job. He just hoped the angel could avoid all the vampires that would now be on his tail.

Feeling bold, Dean crouched down and peered through the crack in the door. He could see four of them—the Alpha, Emily, Benny, and a tall man with a long face and a large nose and lips. Dean assumed he was Serano.

The Alpha heaved a sigh and turned back to Benny. "Brought friends?" He asked.

"Maybe."

The Alpha chuckled. "I suppose your coming back from the dead—well, that's the definition of mutiny, isn't it? All of this has me feeling so… tired."

"You should have let me go."

"But, Benny, I don't let things go," the Alpha replied.

Dean could attest to that.

"Really?" Benny asked. "You lived so long, how is it you have so little, hmm? Nothing but a nest of hyenas."

"I would have had the world, in time," the Alpha snarled. "If two hunters hadn't taken our Mother from us. And we would have had it again, if you and whoever your friends are hadn't shown up." He took a deep breath, as if he were calming himself, and reached over to stroke his fingers down Emily's throat. That seemed to sooth him, and he continued in a much calmer tone. "But I do have many things. I have Andrea."

"No. You don't have her." Benny held up a pair of handcuffs. "At least that much I know."

Dean grinned. That son of a bitch.

"Oh, that dumb bitch," Serano spat.

He lunged for Benny, who leaned back to avoid the knife. He grabbed Serano's wrist and handcuffed it, hurling the vampire in a nearby wardrobe and forcing him to his knees. Benny then stood on the loose end of the handcuffs and pulled Serano's head back with his hair.

"When the hell did you learn how to fight like that?" Serano demanded.

Benny's grin was sly. "I've had a lot of practice."

Serano's head fell to the floor with a dull _thunk_.

Dean felt someone come up behind him and he stood, turning, machete pointed in front of him. A gorgeous woman in white stood in front of him, her hands held up in surrender.

"Andrea?" He asked.

The woman nodded. "You are?"

"A friend of Benny's," Dean informed her.

"Is he—"

"In here."

They entered the room together.

The Alpha was sitting on a chair, looking rather calm considering the shock he must have just received. Emily sat at his feet, hugging his leg and trembling. Benny opened his arms and let his knife fall to the ground. "You gonna just sit there?" He asked the Alpha.

The Alpha's eyes turned to see Dean and Andrea. "You," He said. Dean didn't know which one of them he was talking to. "I ought to have known."

"You said this wasn't over," Dean reminded him. "Well, now's the chance to finish it. You got all of your enemies in the room at once."

"Emily, please stand back."

Emily clung to the Alpha tighter.

"Emily. Do as I say."

Reluctantly, the girl let go and made her way to the corner of the room, out of the way. The Alpha stared at Benny, and for the first time he actually looked old.

"You're right, Benny," He said. "I've been here so, so long. I've seen all the outcomes, all the patterns a trillion times. It all means so little. This universe is a pyramid of despair, nothing else."

"That's a little dark," Dean said.

"I am evil, after all," the Alpha reminded him. "At least I've had that to keep me cold at night." He turned back to Benny. "You never had that, did you? Everything had to be thought out, considered."

Benny's response was deadpan. "You know what Socrates said about a life unconsidered."

"Yes. But what we have in us? Benny, that's not life." The Alpha clucked his tongue. "That's what you still don't get. That's why it's always been so hard for you, my poor Benjamin."

Benny lunged forward, throwing the Alpha into a glass windowpane. "Get up," He growled.

The Alpha just laughed, blood running from his nose. "This is the last thing I can take from you."

"No," Benny replied. "You try, damn it. You try and kill me again."

"This is my story, you gnat," the Alpha said, spitting blood. "My Alpha brothers are gone, Mother is gone, and my two favorite children have betrayed me. But I can have this. It ends the way I choose, not you."

Benny hauled the Alpha to his feet. "Well, at least I can finally show you something new, old man. A whole new…" He flipped open a large clasp knife. "…world."

Dean knew what was coming… and Emily knew it too. She screamed and lunged for Benny but Dean moved at the same time, pinning her to the ground. They struggled, rolling around on the floor until finally she wriggled out from under him and stood. Dean jumped to his feet, waiting for her to attack, but she was frozen, staring at something else.

When he turned, he saw what it was.

The Alpha was dead.

Emily gave a kind of strangled sob. Before Dean could stop her she was running towards him, right towards his pointed machete—

She impaled herself with such force the blade went in up to the hilt.

Dean thought he might be sick, and that was saying something.

"Andrea."

Dean turned and saw Benny walked over to her, holding out his hand. "It's over. Let's go."

Andrea took Benny's hand, but stayed where she was. "Where, Benny?"

"What are you talking about? Anywhere." Benny looked down at their joined hands, and Dean could see the realization dawning. "You're not leaving here, are you? And you never were."

"We have everything we need right here," Andrea replied. "The operation is still perfect. We can ride the high seas, plunder together. We can have the life we always wanted."

"What I wanted was to leave a burning crater behind. I wanted to put your memory to rest."

"But I'm not a memory, Benny." Andrea stepped closer. "I'm right here."

"What I loved—it ain't here anymore." Benny's voice was thick and choked. "It was snuffed out a long time ago by monsters like me. Like what you've become."

"You think you're better than me now?"

"No." Benny's eyes shone wetly. "I think we're all damned."

Andrea snarled, her fangs descending. Dean moved instinctively, stabbing her from behind. Andrea's body bent from the force of it, but before she could do anything Dean braced his hand against her back and withdrew the blade, cutting off her head.

Benny stared, and as Dean's breathing evened out and his brain switched from _danger—enemy_ to _oh shit_, he realized why. Before he could apologize Benny broke eye contact, staring down at Andrea's body.

Cas appeared, his trenchcoat and tie a bit disheveled but otherwise looking fine. He glanced around at the bodies in the room, and at Benny's solemn pose, and frowned.

"I believe that I missed something," he said slowly.

* * *

The dawn was breaking as they walked towards the boat. Through the trees at their backs a dim light could be seen, flickering orange and red—the remnants of a once-great fire, continuing to consume the bones of the Alphas and the vampire nest.

"Why'd you do it, Dean?"

Dean turned back. Benny had been walking more and more slowly the entire time, until he was now stumbling about ten feet behind Dean and Cas. "Do what?"

"Resurrect me," Benny answered. He tried to take a step, faltered, and fell to the ground.

"Son of a bitch!"

Dean tried to haul Benny to his feet, but the man was too heavy. "Cas? What's happening?"

"Benny was turned by the Alpha himself," Cas answered. "Now that the Alpha is dead…"

"All the vampires are dying, too," Dean finished. "And that includes Benny."

Benny's eyes were glassy, and his breathing was laborious. "You could have drained my soul into any culvert," He said, "And no one would have been the wiser."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked. "Hey! Hey, Benny, hey. You good?"

"Man…" Benny gave a raspy chuckle. "I don't know what I am." He coughed.

"Cas?" Dean looked up. "Is there anything?"

Cas crouched down, squinting at Benny. "I'm afraid not," He admitted.

"It's okay," Benny wheezed. "Nothing much for me up here anyway. Thought maybe of going back to Louisiana but… hey, maybe I'll see her in Purgatory. Maybe… maybe we can work things out there. Don't know."

"Stop it," Dean told him. "You're going to be fine. Just shut up and let me think."

Benny chuckled again. "Next time I see you, brother, you'd better have gray hair and it'd better be in Heaven."

Dean could feel the body go limp against him, a heavy weight on his side before suddenly shrinking, crumbling, sinking into the ground and turning into ash. A moment later and Dean was holding nothing but ash, blowing away in the morning breeze.

* * *

He stood on the edge of the rocks, watching the sunrise. There were still bits of ash—bits of Benny—clinging to his clothing. Another friend was gone.

He felt Cas lay a hand on his shoulder, the weight warm and anchoring. "I'm sorry, Dean. I know that you were close."

Dean worked his throat a few times before he was able to speak. "Yeah, well, the Alphas are all gone now, right? We finished that off for good."

Cas nodded. "That is true."

"And Purgatory's all about getting your soul cleaned, right?" Dean asked. "So you can go to Heaven?"

"My Father designed Purgatory to cleanse monsters, because He knew that they could not help themselves in their urges, yes," Cas said. "I believe it was a way to atone for the destruction that Eve brought."

"Nice of him to trap her in there as well," Dean snorted.

"It was her home," Cas replied.

"Home?" Dean turned to look at the angel.

Cas continued to stare out over the water, but Dean knew he was seeing something far different. "Purgatory was once the Garden of Eden."

Dean stared. "Wait—the actual Eden? From the Bible?"

"Yes."

"Well, son of a bitch."

Dean's phone started ringing, and he pulled it out to answer. "Hey."

_Dean._ It was Sam. _Just checking in. We finished the first trial._

"Hey, that's great man." Dean looked over at Cas, who was politely looking in another direction and pretending not to listen in. "Sam? You doing anything at the moment?"

_What do you mean?_

"You've got time until the next trial, right? You're in between hunts?"

_I guess so. Kevin hasn't deciphered the second trial yet. I have to tell you, the kid's taking a real hit with this translating tablet thing._

"Yeah. I can have Cas take a look at him."

_Sounds good. Why do you want to know if I'm free?_

"I was thinking we could go on a hunt. Just you and me, like old times."

_Okay… why?_

"What? I can't spend some time with my baby brother?"

_Dean._

"Look, Samantha, if you gotta know—there's some stuff we need to talk about."

_What kind of stuff?_

"Just meet me at the Bunker, we'll pick a simple salt and burn, and we'll shoot the breeze while we're at it. Sound good?"

_Okay then._

Dean hung up and slung his arm around Cas's shoulders. "C'mon. I gotta tell my brother what we did last summer."


	9. The Girl Who Came in From the Cold

**The hunters are now the hunted.**

* * *

The alleyway behind the bar was rather dingy, but most bar alleyways are. The girl currently leaning against the wall was the only occupant save for a couple of rats, and judging by the wary eye she kept on her surroundings, she wanted to keep it that way. She was small and slight of build, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes that seemed pale until she focused her whole attention on something, making their color—in fact, her entire face—appear to darken. The clothes she wore were too big and rather shabby, consisting of blue jeans, sneakers, a tank top, button-up cotton shirt, and jacket. A small, dirty backpack sat at her feet as she leaned against the wall, a wad of cash in her hands. She carefully peeled back each bill, counting them up by fives and ones.

There was a sudden shift in the air and the girl looked up, stuffing the cash into her pocket. "There's no good hiding," she informed the empty air. "I know you're there."

"Clever," a voice said. "I like it."

A man stepped out from the shadows. At least, she thought it was a man. The figure remained in shadow, his face obscured. "Careful," the girl said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "That a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

In answer, the man drew the blade out from inside his jacket, letting it gleam in the light. "That answer your question?"

The girl gave a low whistle. "Pretty sweet."

"It's yours." The man tossed it so that the blade landed at her feet. The girl didn't pick it up, choosing to take a step away from it instead.

"It's mine if…?"

"I'm in need of your services."

The girl chuckled, shaking her head. "I've been propositioned in a lot of ways, buddy, but that's a first."

"I don't mean those kind of services."

The girl sobered up, her eyes hard and dark as she stared at the man. "I'm not for hire."

"I know, I know. You're one of the old kind. You have a code."

"Damn right I do. I'm not going to go mixing you up a hex bag because your wife is sleeping with the milk man."

"Who even has milk men anymore?"

"Fuck if I know."

The man chuckled and shook his head. "I like you. I didn't think I would, but I do."

"And that is relevant… because?"

"I need you to find me someone," the man said. "Let's call him an old friend."

"Why would I do anything for you?" The girl gestured at the blade lying on the ground. "This is a real nice weapon—nicest I've ever seen, actually. But I'm not going to hunt down someone just for that."

"No, not for a blade, maybe. But for the one thing that you've always wanted?"

The girl's eyes softened and went wide for a second before darkening again, and she turned away. "You have no idea what I want."

"I think I do, actually." The man took a small step closer, keeping his face hidden. "September 15, 1999."

The girl froze. "What?"

"Something was stolen from you that day, wasn't it?"

"It's none of your business."

"What if I told you that you could have your revenge?"

The girl looked like she had stopped breathing. She didn't dare look at the man, her lips pressed tightly together, her hands in fists curled at her side.

"What if I told you," the man said, his voice soft and somehow dangerous, "That the person I want you to find knows how to get you your revenge?"

The girl slowly turned her head, eyes dark as the depths of the ocean and blazing with a dangerous inner fire. "Then I'd say I need a name."

* * *

Sarah Blake tucked a lock of long, dark hair behind her ear and resumed chopping. The axe was heavy, but she'd long grown used to it. After all, she'd been at this for eight years or so.

"Need a hand?"

The art gallery owner turned, gun in hand, to find herself facing a girl. She had dirty blonde hair, light blue eyes, and didn't look much older than eighteen. Come to think of it, she also looked rather underfed.

Sarah glanced down at the pile. "I think I got this, thanks."

The girl shrugged. "It's no bother." She snapped her fingers.

Instantly a blazing fire roared in front of them, carefully controlled and consuming only what it had to. Sarah turned to the girl, eyes wide. "What are you?"

"Nowadays we're called witches," the girl replied. "Sorry if that startled you."

Sarah hadn't lived this long in the business because of a lack of instincts—she sensed that the girl was harmless and tucked away her gun. "What do you want?"

"Cut to the chase—I like that." The girl nodded. "I need information on someone you ran into a few years ago. In 2004, actually."

"You want to know about Dean and Sam Winchester," Sarah guessed.

"Smart." The girl gave a sly little grin. "Yeah. What can you tell me?"

"What can I say?" Sarah shrugged. "It was eight and a half years ago. They rolled into town, ganked a ghost, and split. I haven't seen them since."

"They 'ganked a ghost'?" The girl chuckled. "You sound like a hunter."

"Maybe that's because I am one?" Sarah quipped.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Fair. Look, do you have access to any place they were at for an extended period of time?"

"I own the art gallery, which they attended, and I know of a restaurant where one of them had dinner," Sarah told her.

"Fantastic. I'll need to have a look at those, if I can."

"Sure."

They left the burning wendigo corpse in the woods.

* * *

"Hello?"

The attending nurse looked up at the young woman standing in front of her. "Can I help you?" She asked.

"I'm looking for a Dr. Cara Roberts," the girl said. "I know it's been a few years, but this was the last place of employment I can find in her records."

"You're looking for Cara?"

The girl turned to see an older man striding towards her. "Yes," She said. "Is she still working here?"

The man's face was somber. "I'm afraid not. Cara Roberts died in 2009."

The girl looked shocked. "What?"

The man nodded. "It was horrible, really. She was attacked on her way home from work."

The girl cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. "May I ask what the nature of the attack was?"

The man grimaced. "I'm afraid she was—well, it was pretty graphic. You can ask the police, if you'd like. They should have records."

Four hours later the girl stared down at the file in her hands. Some well-placed lies and a few charming grins had gotten her all the information she wanted, and now she had all there was to know about the night Cara Roberts was murdered.

Staring up at her was a photograph of the woman's body as it was found in the alley. It was cut up horribly, with words carved into the stomach. It was in Latin, but roughly translated to:

_Don't take other people's toys._

"What were you saying about the knife?" The girl asked.

"Most unusual," the policeman helping her answered. "Never seen anything quite like it."

"Any witnesses or suspects?"

"No suspects, but there was one witness—the young lady who found the body."

The girl held up the picture of the witness. It was a woman with dark hair and equally dark eyebrows framing soft cheeks and a pouting mouth. Her eyes were dark and flashing. The girl gently placed her fingertips against the photograph, tracing the face. It was the same face belonging to the body of one Jane Doe, found abandoned in a church. The girl shivered, feeling a cold tingle behind her eyelids.

She'd never be able to prove it, but she knew that the demon Ruby had killed Dr. Cara Roberts.

* * *

Krissy Chambers had prepared herself for another well-wisher offering their condolences and maybe a casserole (and what the hell was up with that), so seeing the scruffy girl standing on the front stoop was a bit disconcerting. Well, maybe scruffy was exaggerating a little. The girl was pretty good looking, if she actually got a haircut and got clothes that fit properly and didn't wear seven layers at once. She looked about Krissy's age, maybe a little older or younger—it was hard to tell with how tiny she was. Whether that was genetics or lack of food, Krissy didn't know.

"Uh… hi?"

The girl made a small noise and—was she checking her out? "Wow. Hi. You must be Krissy."

"That's me."

"May I come in for a moment?"

Krissy leaned against the doorframe. "Depends. You have a good reason?"

The girl sent Krissy a smile and—yeah, she was definitely checking her out. "I just need some information on two hunters who helped you and your dad out about a year ago. Dean and Sam Winchester? Ring any bells?"

Krissy straightened. "Yeah. They were here just this January."

"Great. Look, I need to be somewhere they were, and I need you to tell me all that you know about where they might have been headed after they left you. I'll have to talk to your dad, too—is he home?"

The damn tears rose to her eyes before she could stop them, and she had to blink a few times to stop them from falling. "He's dead."

"Oh." The girl seemed genuinely sorry. "That's awful. May I ask how?"

"Yeah. Might as well tell you, since you know what we do. It was stupid, really. We were after a couple of vampires and—here's the weird thing—they just died on us. No injuries or anything. Just turned into ash. Problem was they'd been feeding on someone and she just panicked, ended up setting the whole place on fire. I got out but my dad insisted on checking the basement for other victims and…" Krissy swallowed. "The roof caved in on him. There was nothing I could do."

"I'm sorry." The girl looked down at her feet. "My mom, she, uh… it was right in front of me. I was five."

Krissy stepped back from the door. "C'mon in."

* * *

Sheriff Jody Mills had to admit that she should have expected something like this to happen. The Winchester boys were good stock but they sure attracted more than their share of trouble.

Still, the shortstack of a girl sitting in her office didn't look so much like a source of trouble as she did a street rat in need of a solid meal.

Jody played on her hunch and took the girl out to a diner to talk.

The kid—who couldn't have been over eighteen—wolfed down a stack of pancakes, two burgers, fries, a pile of bacon, and three slices of pie (blueberry, cherry and apple).

"Careful," she warned her. "You'll get sick."

The girl shook her head. "I'm okay," she said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Uh-huh." Jody signaled the waitress for more coffee. "What do you want with the Winchesters?"

The girl stopped eating long enough to chuckle. "You know you're the first person to ask me that? I've talked to at least a dozen people, one of them the most paranoid guy since what's-his-name from the _Doctor Who_ pilot—the one with the plastic monster—and nobody's thought to ask me that."

Jody shrugged. "I'm a sheriff. I like to get into people's business."

The waitress came by with some more coffee, and the girl looked up. "Can I…" She opened and closed her mouth, suddenly hesitant. "Can I get some more bacon?"

The waitress looked at Jody, who nodded. The girl shrugged. "I really like bacon." She paused, and in the blink of an eye Jody had gone from looking at a young woman to a small child. "And sweets. Can I get ice cream, too?"

Jody nodded. "Yes."

The girl smiled; a tiny, fragile little thing that seemed hesitant to make an appearance but happy that it had. Then she straightened up and became all business again.

"I'm trying to locate them for an old friend," the girl explained. "He has a message for them, but he can't contact them himself so he's sending me."

Jody took a sip of coffee. "And what do you get out of the deal?"

The girl smirked mischievously, but it wasn't the mischief of harmless pranks and childhood games. It was the mischief of black comedy and deadly tricks. "Revenge," the girl replied.

* * *

The remains of Sucro Corp's headquarters were not much to look at. Whatever blackened and crumbling walls had remained after the destruction had been torn down, leaving nothing but burnt land and a few pieces of wreckage that had yet to be transported to a landfill. Rumor had it in town that they were going to turn the place into a park, although a few people 'in the know' said that was bullshit and that some other company from upstate was buying it up to create new headquarters of their own. Neither outcome mattered to the girl—nor did the KEEP OUT sign. She simply hopped the fence and made her way to the center.

Few people remembered seeing two men fitting the Winchesters' description, and nobody knew where they had gone after Sucro Corp had blown sky high, but the girl was hopeful that there was still some clue hidden here. Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out a few ingredients.

Time to cast some spells.

* * *

Missouri Moseley prepared tea for herself at the same time every day. She had always enjoyed her small comforts, and at her time of life she preferred to order her life by such pleasurable rituals. She prepared the tea and the accompanying cookies the same as usual, getting the sugar and cream and cups. The only difference from usual was that today she set two places instead of one.

Just as the kettle whistled, the doorbell rang.

"It's unlocked, child."

The girl entered the kitchen quietly, touching her forehead and lips in respect. When Missouri gestured for her to be seated she sat, accepting the tea with a silent inclination of gratitude. She did not speak, and Missouri knew she wouldn't until she had been given permission.

"We were once the same, your kind and mine," Missouri began. "It makes sense when you think about it." She pushed the plate of cookies towards the girl in invitation. "I will admit for many years I did not understand how my gift made me a part of a greater community, but in the last few years I have broadened my education." She eyed the girl before her. "I sense great sorrow in you, child. I suggest you don't let it eat you up."

The girl bowed her head in understanding.

"I know what you are," Missouri admitted, "but I don't know why you're here."

"I'm looking for Dean and Sam Winchester," the girl informed her. "I was hoping that you could help me—through your association with them and your gift."

"Hmm." Missouri sipped her tea. "I don't know who sent you or why, but I know why you agreed. As I said, don't let it eat you up." She looked out the window, contemplating that people always came to visit her on overcast days. "There is a shadow over your soul. It's up to you to step out from beneath it."

She could tell that the girl didn't understand, but she bowed her head anyway.

"As for the Winchesters…" Missouri sighed. Troublesome boys in that family, but their hearts were always in the right place.

Much like the girl sitting at her table.

* * *

Ellie paid her motel bill and checked out, heading for the nearest bus stop. She hated the running, the constant moving around without connection or purpose. She hated being away from the only home she'd ever known. She hated being unable to touch the land, or work with animals. But if she ran fast enough and far enough, hopefully she could outrun the thing chasing her. Hopefully she could find a new home and settle down.

"Ellie?"

She kept walking, fighting the instinct to stop. The person probably wasn't calling her, and even if they were she didn't trust them not to have ulterior motives. Not after what she'd gone through back at the farm.

"Ellie Garcia."

The girl stepped right in front of her, stopping her from moving. She was short and slight of build, with dirty blonde hair and big blue eyes. Ellie knew she could take her—knock the girl out of her way and just keep walking—but the girl had her feet planted firm and Ellie knew what that meant. Girl meant business.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things." The girl nodded at the bulge in Ellie's pocket. "That hex bag. It'll only protect you so far." She held out her hand.

Ellie handed her the hex bag, watching as the girl dug through her backpack and began mixing and adding things. Ellie looked around in case people were watching. They were in a parking lot, for Christ's sake.

"Here." The girl handed the hex bag back. "This'll do the trick."

Ellie tested the weight of it in her hand.

"You don't have to run anymore."

"What?"

"I said you don't have to run anymore. Just keep that on you at all times. No agent of Hell will find you."

Ellie looked back down at the hex bag, then up at the girl. "You sure?"

The girl nodded. "Yes. The old ways are nearly lost, but some of us still remember them."

Ellie didn't even want to think about what that meant. She was hopping the next bus to Phoenix. "Nobody gives something for nothing. What do you want?"

The girl slung her backpack onto her shoulder. "What can you tell me about the Winchesters, and where did they go after helping you?"

* * *

The motel was dark save for the candles burning, making shadows slide along the walls and ceiling. There were five candles, each at a point of the pentagon drawn on the floor and in the center of which sat the girl, cross-legged, with a small bowl filled with clear water in front of her. After murmuring a few words, the girl passed her hand over the surface of the water. The liquid rippled as if a breeze had sprung up, turning the waters choppy before once again becoming still. To a bystander the water remained clear and empty, but the girl's eyes were wide and transfixed as she stared into it, hardly daring to breathe. She could see images flashing before her, pictures that danced for an instant on the surface before vanishing once again. The longer the girl stared into the water the paler she became—sweat began to run down her face and her body became heavy, slowly sinking into the floor.

It was a long shot, trying this. She'd known that when she started. If the magic of the spell didn't locate what she sought before her life energy gave out, she'd die, her very soul drained in the effort to conduct the power of the spell. But the trail had gone cold and she had no other option. She just had to hope that her body was strong enough to last until the spell was completed.

There was one, final image in the water, the only one that lasted. It showed an old but respectable house, a bit of a ways from town, in front of which was sign that read:

_Sonny's Home for Boys_

The girl's eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out.

* * *

"One ticket, please."

The teller handed the blonde girl her ticket. "Have a safe trip."

"Thank you."

The girl boarded the bus and rested her head against the window, gazing out at the other buses and passengers. She had no idea if the last image was where the Winchesters had been, were now, or would soon be, but it was the only lead she had. Scrying drained the body's energy quickly, and she couldn't risk it again for a while. She could only hope that her year-long hunt was finally coming to an end.

The bus pulled away from the station and headed for New York state.


	10. Come, Tell Me How You Lived

**Come, Tell Me How You Lived: Dean's past catches up with him, but not in the way you'd expect.**

* * *

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Come on!"

He had no idea what Dean was talking to Cas about, but it really didn't need to take twenty minutes, did it?

"I'm leaving without you!" Sam called.

Next to him, Kevin napped on the couch while Amelia and Charlie watched an episode of _Farscape_, Adam reading a book on women in white nearby. Riot was curled up at their feet, gnawing on a bone, while Garth gave Becky a foot massage. According to Charlie organizing everything was going much more quickly than she'd expected, and she estimated that they'd be finished by the end of the month.

"Dean!" Sam shouted one more time.

On the table at his elbow, a phone started buzzing. Sam picked it up but didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" He frowned, puzzled. "No, there's no 'D-Dawg' here—"

The phone was snatched from his hand. "I got it, I got it," Dean said, putting the phone to his ear. Sam noticed that Dean's hair was sticking up every which way and there was some kind of bruise on his neck—probably from that vampire hunt he'd just gone on with Cas, which Sam still needed to hear the full story on.

"Sonny, hey." Sam listened in, wondering who the hell Sonny was. Some girl from Dean's past, like Cassie? "So what's up? Okay. All right. Yeah, just sit tight. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Dean hung up.

"So what was that about, D-Dawg?" Sam asked, unable to resist a little teasing.

"You remember when we were kids in upstate New York? Dad was on a rugaru hunt. We crashed at the bungalow colony with the ping-pong table?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah. You disappeared. Dad came back. You were gone. Dad shipped me off to Bobby's for a couple months and went and… found you. You were lost on a hunt or something."

"That's what we told you," Dean mused. "Right."

Sam stared at him. "I'm sorry? That's what you told me?"

"Truth is, uh…"

Cas entered the room, seemed to see that something was going on between the brothers, and opted to sit down and let Charlie educate him on quality science fiction television.

"I lost the food money that Dad left for us in a card game," Dean admitted. "I knew you'd get hungry so I tried taking the five-finger discount at the local market and got busted. I wasn't on a hunt. They sent me to a boys' home."

"A boys' home?" Sam could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Like a reform school?"

"Yeah, more or less." Dean shrugged. "It was a farm, and the guy who ran it, you know, he… looked after me."

"Wait. Was that the guy on the phone?"

"Yup."

"So he knows what we do?"

"Yeah. He's good people. I have him the number to the Bat Phone, and sounds like he's got something in our wheelhouse."

"Why didn't you just tell me you went to a boys' home?"

"I don't know. It was Dad's idea. And then it just—you know, the story became the story. I was sixteen."

* * *

"…so we came back to the Bunker," Dean finished.

Sam stared at him. "You've been in a relationship with Cas for _weeks_ and you're only telling me now?"

Dean made a face.

"Dean. I have been betting on this with Charlie and Garth. Do you have any idea how insufferable she'll be now that she's won?"

Now it was Dean's turn to stare. "You were betting on us?"

"Well, yeah. Dude, I knew you were into him during the Apocalypse."

"Son of a bitch."

There was a moment of silence, during which Dean contemplated how much easier it was to tell Sam than he'd anticipated, and Sam contemplated all that Dean had gotten up to in Purgatory and during his recent hunt with Benny. "All the Alphas are really gone, then?"

Dean nodded. "I saw the bodies myself. Cas took good care of 'em."

"That means about ninety percent of the monsters in the world are gone now."

Dean nodded. "Yup." He grinned. "Not too shabby for a hunter, an angel and a vampire."

Sam groaned. "That sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.

Dean chuckled, and then slowed down the car. "We're here."

Sonny's Home for Boys (as the sign near the front of the property stated) was a nice place. There was a large house, plus rolling fields and a barn. Dean pulled to a stop right in front of the house.

"You were here for two months and Dad couldn't find you?" Sam asked.

"Oh, no. He found me. He found me quick. But he left me here 'cause I lost our money."

"You were sixteen, Dean. You made a mistake."

"Yeah. I made a mistake." Dean got out of the car. "Look, I know what you think, and yeah, it was a dick move on Dad's part. It's in the past, let's leave it there."

Sam got out of the car as well, keeping his mouth shut. At least Dean had taken their dad off of his pedestal.

Unbeknownst to both men, they were being watched. From an upstairs window, a tiny boy in glasses clutching an action figure watched their every move.

They walked up the porch and knocked on the front door. It was answered by a middle-aged woman wearing a sweater and a large cross on a necklace. She folded her arms and looked at them. Sam had a feeling she didn't approve of them.

"Hi," Dean said, putting on his best smile.

"What can I do for you boys?" The woman asked. She said it as if she hoped they'd say 'nothing'.

"I'm Dean. This is my brother Sam. We're old buddies of Sonny's."

"Prison buddies?"

Dean seemed taken aback for a second, but then his charming grin was replaced with a growl. "No. You mind telling him that we're here?"

After a pause in which the woman looked them up and down, she spoke again. "I'll go get him."

She turned but stopped when she sensed they were about to follow her. "I just mopped this floor, so you can take off those roach stompers."

The brothers silently kicked off their boots.

"Sonny's an ex-con, huh?" Sam asked quietly.

"And we're such angels?" Dean shot back. "Trust me, he's more than made up for it."

As they stepped into the house, Sam could see Dean get a faraway look in his eye.

* * *

_The Deputy Sheriff was wearing sunglasses. Dean knew why, and the memory made him smirk. He was talking to Sonny, a guy with long sideburns and a plaid shirt._

"_Steven Hewlett caught him red-handed stealing up at his store," the Deputy explained._

"_So what'd he take?"_

"_Get this—peanut butter and bread."_

_Sonny looked over at Dean, assessing him. Dean forced himself not to squirm. After a moment Sonny said,_

"_Okay. And how about family?"_

"_Well, his old man called."_

_Dean looked up. Dad had called? He hadn't known that. He'd be out of here in a couple of days then. He hoped Dad had picked up Sammy first. Kid was still back at the motel, and probably starving._

_Dean swallowed hard at the thought. Sam had no idea where Dean was._

"_Once he found out what happened," the Deputy went on, "He said let him rot in jail."_

_Dean ducked his head down, staring at his knees. Dad—Dad had said that? His face felt hot._

"_Judge is off on a fishing trip. Boy's too young to leave in County."_

_And thank God for that. Nabbing a few extra twenties here and there was one thing, but he was not about to squeal like a pig._

"_So we thought it best he stay here 'til arraignment."_

"_I don't see why not, man."_

_The Deputy took off his glasses. "I appreciate it, Sonny."_

_Sonny eyed the Deputy's black eye. "Where'd you get that shiner?"_

_Dean couldn't help it. He laughed._

"_You think that's funny?" The Deputy snapped._

"_I think you're slow," Dean taunted._

"_You sucker punched me!"_

"_You wish!"_

"_Come on, now!" Sonny said loudly, getting their attention. "Billy, I got this buddy. It's all right."_

_Deputy Billy calmed down and nodded his thanks, heading out. Dean waved goodbye sarcastically._

"_You shouldn't do that, kid," Sonny told him._

"_Why?" Dean asked. "Because he's a cop?"_

"_Because when you make him mad, he leaves with the key."_

_Dean looked down at the cuffs, feeling disgusted. What kind of asshole left a kid in handcuffs? Cops, that's who._

_Sonny leaned forward and picked a paperclip from an ashtray on the coffee table. "Eh, don't sweat it." He picked up Dean's cuffed hands in order to pick the lock—and saw the bruises._

"_Deputy do that?"_

_Dean scoffed. As if he had the guts._

"_What, your old man?"_

_Dean hesitated a moment before shaking his head. Dad had taken a fist to him once or twice, but he'd never done anything like that._

"_Well, then, how'd you get it?"_

"_Werewolf."_

_Sonny stared at him, and Dean made sure to stare back defiantly. What? He was telling the truth. Take it or leave it. They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Sonny slowly nodded._

"_Okay."_

_Whether he believed Dean or not was anyone's guess, but he accepted the answer._

_And he opened the handcuffs, too._

_Dean stood up and shook out his hands. "So, how do you know I won't just run away?"_

"_Because you're hungry."_

"_No." He wasn't hungry. Sam was. Sammy, stuck back at the motel. Stuck with Dad._

_At least Dad would feed him._

"_Well, then, why'd you steal bread and peanut butter?"_

_Dean didn't even hesitate. The lesson had been too deeply ingrained into him. Protect Sammy. At all costs, protect Sammy._

_He shrugged nonchalantly and changed the subject. "So, what is this place, anyway?"_

"_It's for boys like you. You work the land. Teaches you some discipline and responsibility. Keep you out of trouble."_

_Dean knew plenty about discipline and responsibility. As for trouble, well, trouble was what the family business was all about—finding it and stopping it._

"_That's lame." He laughed._

"_Beats jail," Sonny told him. "Come on. I'll fix you something to eat."_

* * *

Nowadays Sonny wore glasses, and had his hair pulled back in a ponytail. But the smile he gave—that was exactly the same.

"D-Dawg!"

"Sonny!" Dean grinned, feeing himself relax. "Good to see you."

"Hey, you too brother."

They hugged. In all his life Dean had only allowed four men to hug him: Dad, Sam, Bobby, and Sonny.

Cas didn't count because, well, Cas was in his own category, okay?

When they pulled apart, Sonny noticed Sam. He took him in with the same appraising look he'd given Dean when they first met. "This must be Sam," he said.

"Good to meet you," Sam said, holding out his hand.

Sonny shook it. "You too, brother."

"So, farm, looks nice," Dean said. And it did—from what they'd seen of it driving up, anyway. Most of it was back behind the house, out of sight.

"Oh, please, man," Sonny replied. "It's barely standing. Only got a handful of kids working around here now."

"Why's that?" Dean asked. That was concerning.

"Because these days, the system would rather incarcerate a man then redeem him."

Dean couldn't argue with that.

Sam saw the woman wiping up the table behind them and cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, Sonny? Uh, you—you mind if we talk alone?"

"Ruth?" The woman looked up. "Would you please go check on the boys, make sure their morning chores are getting done?"

Ruth nodded and left, leaving them to it.

"All right," Dean said. "So, what's happening?"

"Well, you remember Jack, don't you?"

"Yeah." Dean remembered Jack all too well. "The tough old leatherneck."

"Mm-hmm." Sonny nodded, eyeballing Dean like he used to back when Dean had been getting smart with him. "Well, somehow that ancient, rusty, broken-down tractor roared to life and ran him over the other night."

"Maybe—" Sam said. "Maybe it just slipped out of park or something."

"Couldn't have." Sonny shook his head. He looked at Dean. "You know, I never—I never believed any of this mumbo-jumbo stuff you boys are into, but… something ain't right."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just… things started happening. You know, lights going on and off, strange scratching sounds coming from inside the walls, windows and doors slamming."

"All right," Dean said. "You think you can round up the boys while we look around?"

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem," Sonny said. "Most of them are home on break—except those with no home worth going to."

Dean nodded in understanding.

As Sonny headed out of the room, Dean turned to Sam. "All right. Why don't you take the house? I'll check out the barn."

"Sounds good."

* * *

There were several upstairs bedrooms, each with two to three beds in them. There wasn't a lot of privacy and the furniture was old, but everything was clean and comfortable. It had to be better than jail, anyway.

The room was completely quiet as Sam entered it. Two of the beds were normal but one…

One had occult symbols notched on the bedpost.

Sam bent down and looked at the tape label, stating that the bed belonged to _Kevin P_. He peeled it back. Then another. Then another… another…

Finally he reached the tape label that said _Dean W._

Sam marveled at it. Here was an entire chunk of Dean's past that he never knew about. He thought about Cas, and Dean's time in Purgatory, and how much strength it had taken Dean to share all of that.

He wondered what else Dean had been keeping from him.

It didn't make him angry—this wasn't demon deals and Ruby. It made his chest ache. The idea that Dean had done things, had been through things, that he was scared to share with Sam for whatever reason. Because of Dad, the ghost of his influence still clinging to Dean? Because he was scared of what Sam would think?

Sam ran his thumb over the tape label. _Dean W._

His big brother.

There was a sound in the next room over, and Sam stood quickly, drawing his knife. The door to the adjoining room was open. He crept over as quietly as possible, pulling it back…

Ruth was on her knees, praying. She rose upon hearing Sam, looking alarmed. He quickly pocketed the knife. "Hey, I am so sorry," He said quickly. "I thought I—saw something in, uh…"

"Like a ghost?"

She actually sounded pleasant this time, and looked out the window. Sam wondered how much she knew. What had she seen, what did you suspect, that would make her say that?

"Sonny told me you were old friends," Ruth went on, "But I know why you're really here. That's why I was praying for us."

"Praying for what?"

Ruth smiled slightly. It was a sad thing. "For the ghost that haunts this farm to leave."

* * *

Dean entered the barn door, shutting it behind him. He could hear some pigeons cooing and took a minute to soak everything in.

The pigeons, the shadowy light, the farm equipment—it was as if only a day had passed since he'd last been here.

Dean pulled out his old EMF detector. Homemade, sure, but this baby had lasted ten years and counting. The tiny machine crackled to life, making its whining, chattering sound.

The spirits was nearby.

"All right, Casper," Dean said. "Where're you at?"

A slight noise sounded throughout the barn—one that definitely wasn't caused by pigeons. Pocketing the EMF he walked toward it, opening another door into a dim room.

"Hello?" A light bulb swung overhead. He reached up and stilled it. "Anybody here?"

There was another sound and Dean whirled around to face—a kid. A tiny, glasses-toting, floppy haired kid. Little guy couldn't have been over five.

"Hey, kid." Dean smiled. "What are you doing in here by yourself?"

"Fighting monsters."

That gave Dean pause. "What kind of monsters?"

"All sorts, with Bruce the monster smasher." The kid held up his action figure doll.

"Hmm." Dean bent down to have a look. "Is that a cape? Little impractical for smashing monsters, huh? You know you could choke—"

The kid activated the doll which declared, _I clobber evil!_

Dean chuckled. "I bet you do." He stood up, holding out his hand. "I'm Dean."

"Timmy." He shook Dean's hand.

"Let's try that again," Dean told him. "If you're gonna be a man, you got to learn how to shake like one, okay? So give me your best Kung Fu grip. Good." They shook again. "Now look me straight in the eye. Let me know that you mean business. Shake as hard as you can. That's it. You shake like that, you'll be all right."

Timmy smiled at him, and Dean figured it was as good of an in as any. "Timmy, did you know Jack who worked here?"

Timmy nodded. "Mm-hmm," he said, very quietly.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He yelled a lot. He was yelling when he had his accident."

Dean sucked in a breath. "How do you know that?"

"'Cause me and the other boys were playing here when it happened."

"Did you see anything?"

Timmy shook his head.

"Is there anything else about that night that you can remember? Anything at all?"

Timmy thought for a moment. "It suddenly got really cold." He looked up into Dean's face. "Can I go? I have to finish my chores before Miss Ruth gets mad."

"That Ruth—she runs a tight ship, huh? Yeah, you better roll."

Timmy scampered off.

* * *

"I grew up in this town," Ruth said. "I used to come up here as a little girl. The Wesserlaufs, Howard and Doreen—they used to own this farm back then. My co-worker, Jack, may he rest in peace, he worked here as a farmhand. Howard was a nice man, but—well, he'd get into that corn liquor and, and one night he got it into this thick skull that Jack and his wife, Doreen, were rolling around in the hay. It wasn't true—everyone knew it wasn't true, but—but Howard's paranoia got the better of him. He tried to kill them both. Jack got away, but Doreen…"

"He killed her?" Sam asked.

"With a meat cleaver." Ruth shuddered. "Got life in jail. Which for Howard ended a year ago. He always sore he'd get his revenge on poor old Jack, and looks like he finally got it."

"Howard buried here in town?" Sam asked.

Ruth gave him a strange look.

* * *

"So how come Dad didn't want you to tell me? Was this place really so bad?" Sam asked.

They were digging up a grave—at night, of course—and Dean gave Sam this weird look, like _you really want to talk about this now?_

"I don't really remember," Dean said. "I mean, look, nobody bad touched me. Nobody burned me with their smokes, or beat me with a metal hanger. I call that a win."

Sam chuckled, but stopped when Dean hit something hard with his shovel.

"Hey."

They brushed the dirt off and opened the coffin to reveal Howard Wesserlauf. They poured salt over it—liberally.

"All right. Let's barbecue old MacDonald here, get the hell out of Dodge."

Sam tossed a light into the grave.

They stopped to get a bite at _Cus's Place: Home Style Meals_. Dean was watching one of the men—Sam figured he was the owner or manager—talking with some customers.

"Dean, you know I'm fine just grabbing a burger to go somewhere, right?"

"What?" Dean said. "And miss out on the best banana pancakes you ever had?"

Dean looked down at his menu, and Sam saw him get that look on his face again.

* * *

_Dean stared at the menu, sitting across from Sonny. He had no idea what he was doing, sitting here instead of finding a way out, but Sonny didn't seem too bad. And he figured, hey, the meal wasn't on his dime._

"_Thanks," he said._

"_No prob. I do this for all the boys after they've been here a month."_

_Dean kept his eyes on his menu. "I meant for getting the charges against me dropped."_

_Son of a bitch, had it really been a month already?_

"_Well, being hungry's not a crime. It's the stealing that is. But I feel if you only do that once, you don't deserve a record. And seeing as how we can't find your pops anywhere, you can stay here as long as you want, Dean. You're doing good in school. You're making friends. You made the wrestling team. I'm proud of you."_

_Good in school. Making friends. Two things Dean had never been good at before._

_Sonny paused for a moment, and Dean could see he was weighing his words. "Let me ask you something, and I want you to be straight with me. Are you into the whole heavy-metal, devil-worshiping stuff?"_

_Dean stared. "What? No."_

"_Hey, I'm not—I'm not judging. It's just I found a few occult-looking symbols carved into your bedpost."_

_Dean sighed. "It's a very long story."_

"_That story have anything to do with why you put the salt in front of your bunk door every night before bed?"_

"_Well, it's a family thing, so I can't really talk about it._

"_Same family that left you here?"_

_That stung. Dean opened his mouth but he couldn't find words. How could you fight something when it was true?_

_Sonny laughed. "What are you—what are you, in the mob or something?"_

"_More like 'something'," Dean said, looking back down at his menu._

_Sonny sighed. "I was part of this gang, right? They were my family. I lived, breathed, I would have even died for them. You know where it got me? Fifteen years in a correctional facility. And for what? Being loyal? To who? I should have been loyal to myself. Because you get one shot at this game, Dean, and when you look in the mirror, you want the guy looking back at you to be his own man."_

_A boy about Dean's age came up. He had kind of a skinny face, with brown hair, a long nose and big brown eyes. He was kind of awkward looking but just had one of those faces that was nice to look at._

"_Hey, guys," He said._

"_Hey, Aaron." Sonny smiled. "How are you?"_

"_I'm good," Aaron replied._

"_Cus here tells me you'll be running this joint soon."_

_Aaron blushed. "He's exaggerating."_

_Sonny just grinned and gestured at Dean. "Meet my new ranch foreman here, Dean."_

_Dean eyed Aaron's nametag._

* * *

Dean eyed Aaron's nametag as he approached the table.

"Hey," He said. "Welcome to Cus's. I'm the owner, Aaron Bass. Sorry about the rush—we're a little slammed right now—so I'll go ahead and take your order to get you started."

"Bet you never thought you'd see me here, huh?" Dean asked, smiling insinuatingly.

Sam stared. Honest to God stared.

That was the smile Dean gave to _women_.

Aaron just looked at Dean with a blankly friendly expression. "Uh, sorry. Do you guys want to hear about the specials?"

Now Dean looked hopeful. What the hell was going on here? "Aaron… Dean Winchester."

Aaron continued to look blank.

"I used to live up at Sonny's?" Dean added.

"Oh, oh." Aaron looked apologetic. "Uh, look, sorry. There's just—there's so many boys that pass through there, it's—it's hard to remember every—every name and face."

Sam couldn't stop staring. There was something going on here and he was determined to figure out what it was.

"Yeah, uh, no. Sorry, I just—I remember you coming up there with your mom. She'd give guitar lessons. It's—it was a long time ago."

"Yeah. Mom—she loved helping out the boys. I guess that's why I kept giving lessons after she passed."

Aaron cleared his throat, and there was an awkward silence.

"Aaron!" A girl in her late teens, her blonde hair pulled back and out of the way, was peering at Aaron through the kitchen window. "Got something for you!"

"You boys enjoy your meal," Aaron said, moving away.

Dean watched as Aaron went up to the girl, who spoke to him about something before he took the food and moved away.

"Kind of young for a short order cook, isn't she?" He noted to Sam.

Sam looked over at her and shrugged. "I guess." If Dean thought changing the subject was going to get him out of explaining what the heck—

There was the sound of a scuffle, and the brothers both turned to look for the source. A couple of tables over in a booth, a father had a hold of his son's ear and was whispering fiercely into it. The boy couldn't have been more than five and was trembling. His sister looked on, her lip wobbling.

Dean made to stand up, but Sam laid a hand on his arm. "We can't do anything," Sam told him.

"I could give him a black eye," Dean retorted.

There was the sound of a pan slamming, and Sam glanced back over towards the kitchen. The girl was quickly frying something, and putting it on a plate. "Order's up!" She yelled. "Number fifty six!"

A waitress grabbed the plate and put it in front of the father, who released his son's ear and dug in. Sam looked back over at the girl, something tugging at the back of his mind. She was starting at the father, her blue eyes dark and hard. Sam had the strangest sensation that he'd seen that expression before, on someone's face… but he couldn't for the life of him say where.

"Bet you're wondering what that thing with Aaron was," Dean said.

Sam looked back at his brother. "Yeah, actually."

Unseen by anyone, the girl tucked a small bag of herbs back into her pocket.

* * *

_Aaron was playing the guitar, fingers lightly strumming the chords as Dean sat beside him. Aaron made the chords jangle, and Dean laughed. Aaron always knew how to make him laugh._

"_So, you've been to a lot of places?"_

_Dean swallowed. "Yeah. My—my dad likes to move around a lot."_

"_What he do?"_

"_Boring stuff."_

"_Do you like it?"_

_Dean thought about it. He liked helping people. He liked knowing that the world was safer because of what they did._

"_No. No, not really. But my dad expects me to follow in his footsteps. I've kind of gotten used to it."_

_It was the first time he'd ever said that to anyone, or even really voiced the half-formed thoughts of rebellion swirling around in his head._

"_Yeah." Aaron nodded. "I get it. My pops wants me to take over the diner, but that's not happening. Grandpa kind of wanted me to become a rabbi, but he respects what I want. So, what do you really want to do?" Dean hesitated, so Aaron went on. "I want to be a photographer and see the world, go to strange lands, eat crazy food."_

_Dean took a deep breath. "I want to be a rock star, but… I also really like cars."_

"_Being a mechanic seems rough."_

"_What? No, no. Not at all. Cars are freaking cool as hell. Fixing them is like a puzzle, and the best part is when you're done, they leave, and you're not responsible for them anymore."_

_Before he knew what was happening, Aaron was leaning in to kiss him. Dean's train of thought slammed on the brakes and pretty much blew up._

_Aaron cocked an eyebrow at him. "Have you kissed many girls?"_

"_What? Yeah. Of course. Lots."_

"_But no boys."_

_Dean shook his head. Risk Dad rearranging his face? No way. "My dad—"_

_Aaron nodded in understanding. "I see." He lightly grabbed Dean's collar, giving Dean the chance to pull away if he wanted. "Well, I guess we'll just have to keep practicing."_

_This time when Aaron kissed him, Dean kissed back._

* * *

Sam knew he was staring, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop. Dean being with Cas was one thing. He'd seen that coming years ago. Hell, Dean being bisexual in general wasn't too much of a shock. But the fact that Dean had _known_ about this—had actually acted on it instead of just bottling it up all of those years—was something Sam had never expected.

"Well?" Dean asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Sam realized that his brother needed reassurance. "I—"

There was the sudden sound of choking and retching, and everyone in the diner turned to look. The father that had been abusing his son was now standing, his face purple as he vomited. Piles and piles of black bile spewed out of his mouth, spilling onto the table and all over the floor. The man clutched at his throat, his eyes starting out of his head. He looked terrified. Various patrons started screaming and pointing, asking what was going on, stating fears about infection or food poisoning.

"It can't be food poisoning," Sam said loud enough for everyone to hear. "He can't have digested anything he ate here that quickly."

People seemed to calm down after that, but Dean glanced over at Sam, his expression heavy. Whatever the man had wasn't food poisoning. That was something else, something more sinister.

As various waitresses helped clean up and the man began to stop retching and calm down, Sam noticed something. The man's two kids were nowhere in sight. He looked over to the kitchen and…

There. The young cook, the blonde girl, was giving the two kids each an ice-cream sundae, petting their hair and talking to them in a low voice. As Sam watched, she tucked a small piece of paper into the pocket of the young girl, who looked a little older than her brother. The cook said something and the little girl nodded, before scampering back to her father along with her brother.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure," Sam said.

"Could be related to our case," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "No. That's definitely a ghost. This… this is something else."

"So, what, we have two cases now?"

"Looks like." Sam eyed the blonde girl as she went back into the kitchen and began cooking again. "I'd say it was a hex bag, but it wasn't fatal. The guy stopped after a few minutes."

"Huh." Dean pulled out his phone as it started ringing. "Could be an isolated incident."

"Maybe."

"Sonny?" Dean answered. "Yeah, we—what?"

Dean stood up. "We have to go."

As they left the diner, Sam chanced a look back at the blonde girl. She was joking with a waitress, and as Sam watched she popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth, grinning in a way that was disturbingly familiar.

He was going to keep an eye on her.

* * *

When they got back to Sonny's, the County Coroner's van was just slamming shut. Dean and Sam both hurried over to Sonny, who stood there watching with his hands in his pockets.

"I tried to save her," he said, voice heavy, "but the damn door wouldn't open."

"Locked?" Sam asked.

"There's no locks on the farm."

Dean nodded his agreement. It was one of the biggest rules. He looked over at Sam. "That means our little field trip to the cemetery was a bust. Sonny, is there anything else weird you can remember?"

"What, 'cause we're not chest-deep in weird already, boys?"

"I know, I know," Dean said. "I mean anything—really."

"There was one thing." Sonny paused. "Ruth always had her rosary beads with her, but now I can't find them anywhere."

"All right," Sam said. "Let's start with the vics, okay? I mean, both lived in the house. The both worked closely with the boys."

"All right," Dean agreed. "Why don't I go have a chat with the rug rats, see what's up?"

"Yeah." Sam turned to Sonny. "You got any employee records on the victims?"

"In my office. Let's do it."

* * *

Dean could hear some kids talking as he went around the side of the house.

"Come on, watcha gonna do about it? You gonna cry?"

"Timmy, you're such a little weirdo."

Dean picked up his pace and rounded the corner. There were two kids, both on the big side—one wore a camouflage pattern shirt and the other wore a dark t-shirt. They were both pushing Timmy up against the side of the house. Dean grabbed camouflage and yanked him out of the way. "Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?" He grabbed the other kid. "C'mere you."

"Nothing," dark t-shirt kid said. "We're doing nothing."

"Uh-huh." Dean looked over at Timmy, who was clutching his action doll. "Timmy, what's going on?"

Timmy was silent, which seemed to annoy camouflage kid, because he huffed. Dean turned on him. "All right you two. Where were you this morning when Ruth had her accident?"

"Unless you're a cop," camouflage kid said, "We don't need to tell you anything."

Smarmy little bastards.

"Oh, okay. Well…"

Dean pulled his FBI ID out of his pocket. "How about that?" He shoved it into their faces. The kids, predictably, started stammering.

"We weren't even here this morning. Sonny sent us into town to get some chicken feed—we swear."

"What about Ruth?" Dean asked. "What can you tell me about her?"

"Uh, we used to call her the warden. She was a real Bible-thumping hardass."

Dark t-shirt nodded his agreement of this assessment.

"Obviously." Dean didn't need kids to tell him that. "What else? Anything different or weird you can think of?"

"You mean besides Timmy?"

Both kids laughed at that. Dean got right into their faces, using his six feet to his advantage as he loomed over them. "Either of you touch him ever again," he said, keeping his voice low, "I'm gonna go all Guantanamo on you. Understand me?"

The kids stared up at him, terrified.

"You get the hell out of here. Go on! Get."

They scampered off like there was a hellhound on their asses. Dean turned back to Timmy.

"Hey. You and Bruce okay?"

Timmy nodded.

"Listen to me." Dean crouched down. "Guys like that—they're cowards, okay? All you got to do is stand up to them one time and they'll stop, I promise."

Timmy looked down at his feet. "Okay."

* * *

It was as they were walking through the house that Sam saw it. He stopped short, staring.

"Hey, Sonny, wait. What is all this?"

Sonny followed his gaze and smiled fondly at the set of shelves. "That's our hall of fame. Anytime a kid gets an award for something—school production, art show, science fair—we put it up here. Makes the kids proud, helps 'em do better. Makes the other kids want to be like that too. We had some pretty great athletes come through here, including your brother."

Sam concentrated on breathing. Just breathe.

"He was Sullivan county 135-pound wrestling champion."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"He was real good at academics, too. Loved reading—made his way through my Vonnegut collection in a week."

Sam stared at the picture of Dean. It felt like there was no air in the room.

* * *

Aaron honked the car as he pulled up to the house. His mother had died about five years ago, so he'd starting giving guitar lessons in her place. She'd always encouraged him to follow his dreams, and he knew it had hurt her when he'd had to come home and take over the diner when Dad's heart gave out. Besides, he agreed with her and Sonny—give the kids a goal, a skill to work on, and some honest love and encouragement, and there was no reason for them to end up in the system again.

"Hey, guys!" He called out. Two of the kids—Mark and Linus—were mowing and raking the yard. They waved back and then returned to their chores.

Aaron got out his guitar case and made his way up the porch. He heard the lawn mower stop and some chatter from the kids, but didn't think anything of it.

And then the screaming began.

Aaron turned, dropping the guitar case, instinct telling him to move so that he didn't really understand what was going on until he got there and saw the blood spraying everywhere.

Mark had gotten his hand caught in the lawn mower blades.

"Linus, get Sonny! Call 9-1-1!" Aaron yelled. Linus was covered in blood and shaking so hard he might fall over any second, but he obediently ran into the house. There was the sound of heavy footsteps and suddenly someone else was there, too.

"Here, grab the handles!"

Aaron grabbed the handles of the lawn mower. There was an awful crunching sound and Mark was yanked free of the blades, sending him and his rescuer sprawling. There was still blood everywhere, and Mark was continuing to scream.

"Help me tie it off before he bleeds to death. Kid! Shut up!"

"Not the best way to get him to calm down," Aaron quipped, looking up.

Dean Winchester. Of-fucking-course.

"Then you calm him down while I try to stop him from dying."

Aaron bent down while Dean took off his over shirt and used it to bind up the wound. Aaron tried not to look at it, instead focusing on Mark's face. "Hey, it's okay Mark. You're okay now. You've got to stop screaming so we can get you to the hospital. Dean here is going to bind the wound up, okay? We'll get you to the hospital in just a second."

Mark slowly calmed down, sniffling and nodding. "Is—is my h-hand?" He bit his lip, even now trying to 'be a man' and not cry.

"We're going to take care of it," Aaron told him. He looked over at Dean.

Dean's face was out of Mark's line of sight, and as the man looked up his eyes locked with Aaron's. Slowly, his mouth a grim line, Dean shook his head.

_Oh, God._

* * *

Sam was reviewing Timmy's file when Dean walked in, minus his over shirt. Sam raised his eyebrows in a silent question, and Dean heaved a sigh.

"Kid's gonna need about eight thousand stitches, but he'll be fine."

"That kid was bullying Timmy before the accident, right?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah. Why?"

"Check this out." Sam handed Dean the file. "Timmy was found in an abandoned building about a year ago, all by himself. No one was sure how long he had been there."

"And what about his parents?" Dean asked, tossing the file back to Sam.

Sam closed the file and put it on the table, shrugging. "Well, they posted a picture on the Internet, but no one ever showed up."

"Well, then, what's he doing here?" Dean asked. "Shouldn't he be in an orphanage?"

"He kept running away from Child Services. So about three months ago, Sonny offered to take him in."

"Sam, the kid's what, five? How much trouble could he be for Child Services?"

"One counselor that had a reputation for being harsh and, quote, 'verbally abusive', died mysteriously in her office after having a meeting with Timmy."

Dean whistled. "All right. So hardass counselors, bullies, all bite the dust but Timmy's still standing. So, what are we talking? We got ourselves a Damien on our hands?"

"No. EMF rules out a demon. It's probably ghost possession."

"Meaning what, we find Timmy and shove a fistful of salt down his throat, forced ejection?"

Sam shrugged. He didn't like it but he didn't see what other choice they had. Dean heaved another sigh and pointed at Sam. "You're taking the barn this time."

He walked out, leaving Sam to stare at the folder in front of him.

* * *

Sam made his way through the barn. Chains rattled, cows lowed and pigeons cooed—nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He searched the main area and found nothing, but there was a door that led into another, smaller room. He went in and swung the flashlight around.

He moved it up towards the rafters. Some pigeons moved out of the way, making annoyed noises, and then—

A trapdoor.

He climbed up the ladder into a small attic area. His flashlight illuminated the space, showing various drawings taped or nailed to the walls. One showed a happy mother and child, smiling. The second showed a car driving, with YMOMM—MOMMY spelled backwards—and then the third showed the car crashing. The fourth showed the car in flames… and Mommy throwing Timmy outside the car.

Sam swallowed. The poor kid.

But now… now he thought he knew what was going on.

After all, they said a mother's love never died.

* * *

Dean finished checking the downstairs and planned to head up the stairs when he heard the sound of guitar strings. He walked into the room and saw Aaron on the couch, playing guitar.

* * *

_They were on the porch swing, just soaking up the last of the summer sun. Aaron had always been slight of build, and back then he was skinny to Dean's stocky. Dean leaned in to kiss Aaron, but the other boy put a hand on his chest, stopping him._

"_What's wrong?"_

_Aaron looked down, and for the first time since Dean had known him, he looked unsure. Aaron always knew what he wanted, what was going on, what was right and wrong. Not like Dean. Dean wasn't sure about anything. Aaron was certain about everything._

"_I just hope this lasts," Aaron admitted._

_He didn't have to elaborate. What they had—well, most people weren't as understanding as Sonny. Sonny had taken one look at Dean after Aaron had left from a 'guitar lesson' and said, "Keep your hands above the waist, that's all I ask."_

"_I'm not going anywhere, Aaron."_

"_Says you."_

"_Well, I can't." At least that much was true. "Who else would take you to the school dance?"_

_They'd have to claim they were going as 'just friends' because they couldn't get dates, but it was better than nothing._

"_Is this your way of asking me to be your date, Dean Winchester?"_

"_Yeah. How am I doing so far?"_

_Aaron threw his head back and laughed._

* * *

Aaron looked up from the couch and saw Dean. "Oh. Hey. How's—how's Mark doing?"

Dean closed his eyes. The kid had been a bit of a bully, but he didn't deserve what had happened to him. "He'll be okay."

"Could they save it?"

Dean hesitated, then shook his head. "Sonny's still at the hospital with him."

Aaron muttered a prayer in Hebrew. "What happened to you at the diner? I turned around to take your order and you were just—gone."

The last word hung heavy in the air, the unspoken _like last time_ hovering between them. Dean tried to brush it off. "Long story. Have you seen Timmy?"

"No, not yet, but he should be here any minute for his guitar lesson."

"Yeah, we're gonna cancel that."

"What?" Aaron set the guitar aside.

"We got to get out of here, okay? I don't have time to explain. You just got to trust me."

"Trust you?" Aaron sighed. "And why would I do that again?"

Dean felt the air leave his lungs. "You do remember me."

Aaron's voice was soft. "How could I forget?"

"There were—there were reasons why I had to leave. I don't have time to explain them to you right now. I got to get you out of here."

He grabbed Aaron by the hand, yanked him up and started pulling him out of the room.

"Hey!" Aaron cried. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry."

Both men froze and turned around to see Timmy standing there, action figure in hand.

"Sorry about what, Timmy?" Dean asked.

"I can't stop it," Timmy whispered.

A vase shattered against the door, causing both Aaron and Dean to flinch and yell in surprise.

"Go!" He shouted, pushing Aaron into another room. "Go, go, go!"

Vases were flying through the air, crashing into walls—and why the hell did Sonny have so many vases everywhere, anyway? Dean grabbed a fireplace poker just as a lamp flew over their heads, making them duck. They headed towards an open door just as Sam entered through it.

"Sam, go!"

Sam took one look at the situation and whirled around but the door slammed shut again. Sam rattled it.

"Locked."

"Damn it!"

"What do you mean, 'locked'?"

Dean ran to a kitchen cabinet. Yup, salt was right where he remembered it. He tossed the box to Sam. "Circle!"

Sam caught the box and opened it. Aaron turned a bewildered face to Dean. "What—what just happened in there?"

"Okay, listen to me." Dean guided Aaron to stand inside the salt circle Sam was pouring. "Whatever happens, you stay inside this circle. Understood?"

"Dean…" Sam said, warning in his voice.

Dean turned around.

Timmy stood in the doorway. "I can't control her," he said.

"Can't control who?" Dean asked.

Sam stepped forward. "Your mom, right?" He moved over to Timmy. "Listen. We need you to tell us about the fire, okay?"

Timmy looked from Sam to Dean, who nodded. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"It was late, and we were driving home when we crashed in the woods. Everything was on fire. But she saved me, pushed me out before the car blew up—with her in it."

"But that's not all, was it?"

Timmy shook his head. "I ran through the woods. I found an empty building, where I hid. I was scard. It was dark and cold. So I cried. I cried for Mommy. And then she came."

"But she'd changed, right?"

Sam remembered the final drawing he'd seen on the wall—a large phoenix-like shape labeled MOMMY hovering over a stick figure of Timmy.

"I'll bet she gave you that cool action figure, huh?" Dean said.

"Yeah. It was Daddy's." Timmy held up Bruce. "Mommy always said, Daddy was a good man, but he got sick. It was 'cause he ate meat. That's why I can't eat meat. 'Cause I got it from Daddy. But Mommy said Daddy was good. He wanted me to have Bruce."

"Timmy…" Sam began.

A figure flickered into the kitchen, near the refrigerator. It was a woman, horribly burned.

"…I'm going to need that action figure."

The spirit attacked Sam and threw him against the wall. Dean swung the iron poker through her, making her dissipate. Dean grabbed the action figure from Timmy and put it into the oven, turning the gas burner on.

"No!" Timmy shouted. Sam picked him up and put him in the circle of salt with Aaron, who held the boy protectively.

"It's okay," Aaron said.

"But… but Bruce…"

"I know. I'm sorry. Dean had a good reason." Aaron looked up at Dean. "Right?"

Dean kept his eyes on the doll, watching it burn.

A wind blew through the window, disrupting the circle of salt.

"Dean," Sam said. "It looks like it wasn't the action figure that was anchoring her here."

"Then what is?" Dean demanded, getting Bruce out of the oven. "Ow!" He grabbed a kitchen towel and wrapped it around the action doll, smothering the fire. He tossed it to Aaron, who handed it to Timmy. Timmy clutched the bundle to his chest protectively.

"What is, Sam?" Dean asked. "There's nothing else for her to latch onto!"

Sam looked over at Timmy. "There's him." He stepped closer to Dean, out of the broken salt circle. "You know what? I think maybe his mom can't let go and she's still protecting him from the grave."

"Protecting him from what?" Dean gestured at himself. "What, from us?"

"Maybe she doesn't know what threats are real and what's not, so she just attacks all of them," Sam hypothesized. "Wouldn't be the first time a ghost couldn't handle reality. Remember Molly? Maybe this is why they go violent—they lose track of things."

"Great. So, what, unless we waste the kid, we're sitting ducks?"

"This is—this is crazy," Aaron said.

Dean held out a hand, trying to soothe him. "Aaron."

Aaron ran out of the kitchen toward the front of the house. "Aaron!" Dean yelled. "Damn it."

He chased after him. "Aaron, wait!" He grabbed Aaron's wrist. Aaron stopped and stared up at him, eyes wide.

"Who are you?" He asked.

If that wasn't a loaded question…

"Right now I'm the only thing that's keeping you safe."

Aaron turned to leave, a disbelieving look on his face—and ran right into the ghost of Timmy's mother. The ghost waved her hand, making Dean fly backwards into the wall. The spirit then clenched her fist, and Dean felt his heart clench painfully. Aaron watched in terror, unsure what to do. Dean tried to tell him to run, to get out while the spirit was distracted, but he couldn't breathe.

Sam crouched down. "Timmy, we're going to need your help, okay?"

Timmy's mother must have heard Sam, because she looked toward the kitchen and let go of Dean. He gasped in relief.

"Listen to me," Sam said. "I need you to focus, okay?"

Timmy's mother appeared behind Sam. Timmy's eyes went wide.

"Look, we are not here to hurt you."

Timmy's mother grabbed Sam, pulled him backwards, and threw him against the wall. Dean rushed in. "Sammy!"

He took a step towards his brother, but then he was thrown backwards as well. The spirit clenched her fist, making Dean's heart contract again and he groaned.

"I can't stop her," Timmy whispered.

"You—Timmy—" Dean gasped. "You have to—try."

Timmy's mother looked at him balefully.

Dean continued, forcing air out of his lungs. "She came to you when you cried out for her," he rasped, voice strained. "Now you have to tell her to stop and go away!"

"She's my mommy!" Timmy replied, terrified.

"She's a ghost. Timmy, because she can't move on, she's going crazy. Okay? You have got to let her go. You'll be okay."

Sam gasped in pain as Timmy's mother clenched her other fist.

"Listen to me. Sometimes you gotta do what's best for you, even if it's gonna hurt the ones you love. And Timmy—this is best for her too. She needs to move on. You have to help her move on."

Timmy clutched the dish towel holding Bruce. His voice was tremulous, but he stood firm. "Mommy—stop it!"

"Kung Fu grip, Timmy," Dean gasped.

This time, Timmy's voice was stronger. "Mommy, stop it! Stop hurting people!"

The brothers gasped in relief as Timmy's mother let them go. She turned to face her son, holding her arms out to him.

"You have to go," Timmy said. "Never come back. I'll be okay. I promise."

Slowly, as if peeling away the layers of paint, the woman's ghostly essence peeled away. The burns and dead-eye look faded, leaving a woman looking whole and human, smiling tearfully at her son as she held her arms out to him. She smiled, proud and loving.

"I love you, too," Timmy replied.

His mother's spirit faded away, as had Molly McNamara's—peacefully, into the light.

Timmy ran to Dean, who embraced him, letting the kid wrap himself around him. Timmy trembled and cried, probably getting Dean's shirt wet and snotty. Dean grimaced, but patted the kid's back as he frowned at the spot where Timmy's mother had been. There was something that Timmy had said, and something about the woman's face, that tugged at him. He'd have to do some research.

Aaron entered the room, staring at the scene in front of him. "This time," he said, "You're giving me an explanation."

Dean sank back against the wall.

* * *

"Laura!"

The blonde girl poked her head into the back storeroom where they kept the dried goods. It was the only place that she hadn't checked yet—and still, no sign of Laura.

"Laura!"

Where the hell was she? Laura was a great fry cook, and it wasn't like her to just vanish—unlike Aaron. Deny it all he wanted, he'd had his eye on Mister Green Eyed and Gorgeous at the diner the other day.

The girl sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose. It smelled odd in the room. Like…

With a churning sensation in her stomach, the girl flicked on the light.

Laura's body lay on the ground, her mouth and shirt bloodied and eyes staring lifeless at the ceiling. Around her head were a handful of bloody teeth.

The girl ran over, examining the body carefully but not touching it. She then began looking around the room, under boxes and around shelves. She found it tucked next to a bag of flour and held it up to the light, her face grim.

She dropped the small object to the floor by the body. Its power was null now that it had taken care of its intended victim. Let the authorities puzzle over it.

Pulling open the storeroom door, she stuck her head into the main kitchen and let out an almighty shriek.

* * *

Dean had a date planned with Aaron—nothing romantic, of course—Sam knew Dean wouldn't cheat on Cas—but just to catch up. Dean planned on heading out at around six so when Aaron called at four, Dean's puzzled expression was justified.

"What's up?" Dean went from confused to alert in the space of a millisecond. "We'll be right there."

Sam frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Remember the blonde girl at the diner?" Dean said. "She just found a body—one of the other fry cooks. And get this."

"What?"

"Authorities found an object by the body. Aaron described it to me. It's a hex bag."

* * *

Dean stood up from where he was crouching over the body. "And you say one of the other cooks found her?"

The policeman gestured. "She's sitting over there."

Dean and Sam approached her, flipping their badges. "I'm Agent Stark," Dean said, "And this is Banner." He jerked his thumb at Sam. "We heard you were the one to find your coworker?"

It was the girl from earlier, Sam noted. The one that he was almost positive had used magic on the abusive dad. Up close he could see that she had light blue eyes and was on the skinny side, her dirty blonde hair pulled back. She wore a ring on her right middle finger—metallic, silver maybe—in the shape of a snake wrapping itself around and around. There were also, he saw, faint marks like scars running from her elbows down to her hands. He looked up at her face and when he looked back down, no scars were visible.

Odd.

"Yes," the girl said. "She'd gone on a ten-minute break and never returned. We thought maybe she'd fallen asleep and lost track of time, so I was sent to look for her. I found her in the back storeroom. It's where we keep the dry goods like flour."

"Did you notice anything unusual about her?" Dean asked.

The girl rolled her eyes, her head wobbling like a bobblehead as she did so, and Sam had a sense of déjà vu. He'd seen someone move their head just like that. He was sure of it.

"You mean besides the teeth and the blood?" The girl asked. She shook her head. "No. There was nothing that struck me as odd."

Dean glanced over at Sam, who asked the next question. "What were you doing talking to the kids in the diner the other day? The ones you gave ice cream to."

The girl blinked. "I told them they shouldn't feel scared like that, and if their dad hurt them in any way, they should get help. I gave the daughter the number of a local abuse hotline. I said if she called it and said her dad was hurting them, that some nice people would come and rescue them."

"Pretty interesting, him throwing up like that," Sam said, keeping his tone conversational. "Never seen vomit like that."

The girl scoffed. "It's the least he deserves, treating his kids like that."

"I have to agree there," Dean said.

Sam gave him a look.

"I think we're done here," he told the girl. "Thanks for your information."

"Uh-huh. Anytime, Agent," the girl said.

Sam lightly grabbed Dean's elbow, steering them towards the door. "You think it's her?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "You see she didn't mention the hex bag, right?"

"Technically," Sam replied, "You asked her if she'd seen anything unusual. If she's a witch, then a hex bag wouldn't be unusual to her. She took advantage of the loophole."

"Clever."

Sam glanced back at the girl. Talking about bullies getting what they deserved, finding loopholes, the look on her face—who was this girl, and why did she seem like someone Sam knew?

"Look, I'm going to convince Aaron to go out anyway," Dean said. "He'll probably feel guilty, employee dead and all, but I think it'll be good to have him relax after the day he had. You good?"

"Yeah," Sam waved him off. "I'll call Amelia and see how everyone's doing back there."

"Great." Dean grinned. "See you later."

"Have fun."

Sam glanced back, but the girl had vanished.

* * *

Making sure Dean couldn't see him, Sam headed out. He was going to find out what this was all about.

"So _that's_ the family business?" Aaron chuckled.

"Like I said," Dean told him. "Boring."

"Right." Aaron shook his head.

"As you can see, I didn't become a rock star. Did you get to, what was it—be a photographer and eat weird foods?"

"Sort of," Aaron said. "I backpacked through Europe after graduating high school, and I spent a summer in India after my sophomore year of college. But my Dad had heart problems and I decided to come home and help out with the diner until he got better. Long story short he didn't get better and I ended up taking over permanently. I thought I wouldn't like it, living in the same small town but… I did." Aaron shrugged. "Crazy, how things change."

Dean nodded his agreement. "Yeah." He sighed. "Look, Aaron, about leaving—"

"You don't have to explain."

"Yeah, I do." Dean took a swig from his beer bottle. "I loved it here. I loved Sonny, the kids, school… you. And if it was just my old man I would've stayed."

"But you had Sam," Aaron said knowingly.

Dean nodded. "He's four years younger and—man, he never even knew our Mom. Dad was super protective of him but he never really parented him, you know? And I thought, if I'm not there… what's going to happen to him? So I went back."

"I'll bet he appreciates it."

"Well, sometimes." Dean thought back on all that he and Sam had been through. "I got kind of like a helicopter mom towards the end. But we're better now. We're letting each other be our own people, go separate ways. For years I thought being separate meant we weren't family anymore but… I'm starting to learn differently."

Aaron nodded. "I can understand that. You know, I always wanted a brother growing up. Or any sibling, for that matter. I think it's part of why I help out with Sonny's kids so much."

There was a pause in the conversation, but it was a comfortable one.

"So, you ever try dating a guy again?" Aaron asked. "Or did I scare you off of them?"

Dean chuckled. "Any scaring was on my dad's part." He paused. "You were the only guy I ever dated. Only one I ever let myself—I didn't act on it, after that. But, uh, now I got someone."

"Name? Picture?" Aaron leaned forward, grinning. "Don't keep up the suspense, Winchester."

"It's a long story."

"I got time and more alcohol."

Dean leaned back and started telling him about Cas.

* * *

"Hello?" Sam banged on the door. "FBI, open up."

There was no answer from behind the motel room door, and this was the third time he'd knocked. Glancing around to make sure nobody was around, Sam got out his lock picking kit.

The motel room was dark and empty. In fact, it was strangely bare. Sam walked in, glancing around. There were the usual motel trappings, of course, but not much else. A toothbrush sat on the bathroom counter along with a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, and there was a small pile of underwear in the top drawer of the chest of drawers across from the bed, but that was it.

Sam kneeled down and checked under the bed.

"Bingo."

The backpack was worn and dirty, with one of the straps held together by duct tape and spit alone, but it was what it held inside that made Sam pause. He couldn't identify any of the herbs by sight alone, but he'd seen enough witches' stashes to know their ingredients when he saw them. And at the bottom of the bag…

Sam held up the collection of hex bags, whistling slightly. That was a lot of hex bags, more than he'd seen in any one place. Each one had a different symbol drawn on them in marker. Maybe each had a different purpose?

The bag also held a rather large can of salt, some piles of roots tied together with rubber bands, and some jars that had rather questionable contents. There were even some dried chicken feet. Nothing was labeled.

Sam put everything back into the backpack and zipped it up, suddenly stumbling as he tried to put it back in its place under the bed. He was feeling rather lightheaded all of a sudden, and it felt like his throat was closing up on him. The feeling intensified over the next few seconds, and then stabbing pain began shooting from his stomach through his limbs. Sam realized, with a creeping sensation of horror, that the witch must have booby-trapped this place in case someone disturbed it. He staggered, trying to see where the hex bag might be hidden, but his vision was growing blurry. He was finding it hard to breathe, and the pain in his stomach was getting worse—

"Shit!"

Someone caught him just as he started to fall to the ground. It sounded like a young woman.

"Shit, shit… bitch must've laid a trap for me. Knew I was onto her, the little… just hold on, hotshot, okay? Hold on."

Hotshot. That nickname sounded familiar. The girl. The girl reminded him… but whom…?

There was the sound of the backpack unzipping and jars rattling. Sam moaned and curled into himself, trying to keep breathing.

"Drink this!"

Sam coughed as something slimy and sour was forced down his throat.

"This'll heal you, but you're going to black out."

Almost as soon as he heard the words, he felt consciousness slipping away from him. The liquid was taken away and he felt something looped around his neck. It was a necklace or chain, but whatever it was had something heavy hanging from it, something that was tucked underneath his shirt.

"Keep this safe for me, okay? It'll protect you."

A hand slipped into his pocket and dug out his phone. There was the sound of buttons pressing.

"Hello? Yeah, I'm here about your partner. He's not doing so good. Yeah, the Cozy Bear Motel, room number fifty-five. My name? Yeah it's—"

The phone was hung up and pressed back into his hand.

"Hold onto that thing I gave you, okay?"

Sam's last conscious thought was that Dean was going to be pissed at him.

* * *

He was right. Dean was pissed.

"So you just decided you were going to investigate this on your own and not tell me?"

"You were catching up with Aaron," Sam replied. "I didn't want to interrupt you!"

"Dammit Sam, you could've gotten yourself killed!" Dean paced up and down the parking lot. "If I get my hands on that blonde chick, I'm gonna—"

"That's the thing, Dean," Sam interrupted. "I don't think she's the one killing people."

Dean stopped in his tracks, staring at him. "What?"

"Look," Sam took a step towards his brother and lowered his voice. "I thought it was her too. I know she was the one who pulled the stunt on the dad in the diner. I mean, I thought it was her, and then when we interviewed her and she said she'd given the daughter the phone number of the abuse victims hotline, I was certain. And she's definitely a witch, I saw her supplies in her motel room. But she saved me, Dean."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"Sam, you were dying and then you passed out."

"I know what I saw, Dean. She came in, saw what was happening to me, got something out of her bag and saved me. And besides, I heard what she said. She said that 'the bitch must have laid a trap for me'." Sam paused. "Dean, I think she's a good witch."

"A good witch?" Dean looked incredulous.

"Yes. I think there's a bad witch that's killing people off and our blonde cook is out to stop her. The bad witch figured it out and placed a hex bag in the girl's motel room to kill her. But I got into the motel room first and the hex bag latched onto me instead. Besides," he went on, "If she'd wanted me to die, would she have given me this?"

Sam pulled the girl's parting gift out from under his shirt. It was a hex bag tied to the end of a small metal chain. "You see those marking written on the bag?"

Dean examined it. "Yeah?"

"I looked them up. They're protection symbols—a combination of three symbols, actually, from three different cultures. Norse, Assyrian, and Celtic. This is some kind of reverse hex bag."

"So instead of killing people, it saves them," Dean said.

"Exactly."

Dean handed the bag on its chain back to Sam, who hung it around his neck again and tucked it under his shirt. "She said to keep it safe for her."

"So we have Glinda the good against the Wicked Witch of the West?" Dean shook his head. "Man, this is just getting crazier by the minute. Did she tell you to click your heels three times if you wanted to go home?"

"Hilarious, Dean." Sam gazed out over the parking lot. "I don't have all the answers. I'm just saying that the blonde girl isn't our enemy. There's another witch out there."

"Who's killing people. And we don't know who she is."

"Yup."

"Well, how do we find out?"

"I think our Glinda knows who she is, the way she was talking," Sam answered. "If we keep an eye on her…"

"…she'll lead us to our wicked witch." Dean grinned. "Classic."

"Dean, you sure we shouldn't just let the good witch handle this?"

Dean arched his eyebrows. "Are you kidding me? And miss a magic showdown? No way."

Sam rolled his eyes but followed Dean to the Impala. "But first," Dean said. "We have to talk to Sonny."

"About what? We killed the ghost."

Dean gave Sam a look. "I told you the ghost looked familiar, right?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah."

"Well I did a little digging, and look who she was."

Dean pulled out a picture and handed it to Sam. It was taken from a newspaper detailing the gruesome death of a local man and the disappearance of his wife. The wife's name was given as Michelle Montgomery, and the husband's name was…

"Jack Montgomery."

"The rugaru from Carthage."

"So that's why Travis was after the wife as well as Jack," Sam realized. "He must have somehow found out she was pregnant."

"Yeah, and that's why she was so damn protective of her son, kept him on a vegetarian diet and all. She'd seen what happened to his father."

"And she couldn't stop protecting him, even in death." Sam handed back the picture. "It's pretty sad."

"Yeah, I know."

"So what are we going to do about the kid?" Sam asked, getting into the car.

Dean started the engine. "That's what we need to talk to Sonny about. I've got an idea."

* * *

Sonny listened patiently to Dean's pitch, nodding to himself when he'd finished. "Lemme get this straight. You want me to start taking in kids like you—hunter's kids that lost their parents or don't have a safe place while the parents hunt—and the kids of monsters?"

"Pretty much."

Sam kept his face carefully neutral. "I know it sounds crazy," he admitted, "but I think Dean's onto something. If you raise them to see one another as friends, and teach the kids with, uh, issues, so to speak, to control them, then it could lead to a new understanding."

"Cas and I took out all of the Alphas," Dean explained. "Those are the first monsters, the Big Daddies, the ones that created all of the others. Thanks to that most of the monsters in the world are gone."

"If we can rehabilitate the next generation, then there would be a whole legion of enemies that hunters wouldn't have to deal with anymore. Maybe, in time, these monsters would vanish completely. If they don't turn anyone and those with genetic issues like rugarus don't have any biological children."

Sonny nodded, this time with more conviction. "I've always believed in givin' people second chances. You think other hunters'll buy into it?"

"We've got a couple friends with some influence," Dean said. "I can give you their numbers. Garth was born into hunting—both his parents did it, and Charlie's helping the hunters with networking. They can convince the others."

"Then I say why not." Sonny grinned. "Long as I can keep my other boys, too."

"Sure." Sam realized something. "But, uh, would it be okay if you took in girls, too?"

"I think I can convince the county," Sonny replied. "I still got some friends there."

"We could call Jody," Sam said, turning to Dean. "See if she could come up, help with the girl side of things. I think she'd like it."

Dean shrugged. "Probably ready to kill us for not calling sooner."

"That'll be good, having a woman to help with that," Sonny said. "It'll look good to the country, too."

"And if you need help legally," Sam pulled out a card. "This girl will help. We ran into her on a hunt a few weeks ago—her name's Kate. She wanted to be an environmental lawyer for green companies and grassroots corporations, but she had a bit of an upheaval."

"Does she know about," Sonny gestured between the two brothers. "What you do?"

"She's a werewolf."

"Ah."

"She's a good kid, and she can control herself."

Sonny took the card. "I'll call her."

"Thanks, Sonny." Dean grinned. "You don't know how much I appreciate this."

Sonny leaned forward and clapped Dean on the shoulder. "D-Dawg, I should be the one thanking you."

Sam stood up and moved out onto the porch. He had a feeling Dean needed a moment alone to say goodbye.

"I always hate to see you go," Sonny said. "I can't thank you enough for this one, man."

They hugged. John Winchester was definitely an influence in Dean's life, and Bobby would always be his true father, but Sonny had been a good parent for the two months that Dean had lived with him. In another lifetime, he would have been the one that Dean called 'dad'.

"Sonny, we'll see you around."

"You can bet on that, boys." Sonny grinned. "Take it easy, man."

Dean and Sonny slapped each other's shoulders one last time, and Dean turned to join Sam on the porch.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked as they walked to the Impala.

"Yeah?"

"One thing's been bugging me about this."

"What? 'Cause I told you everything about Aaron—"

"Not that," Sam said, shaking his head. "But I'm still grateful you told me. I meant about Timmy."

"Yeah?"

"How'd you know Timmy asking his mom to leave would work?"

"I didn't. Total Hail Mary. Got lucky."

"You just got lucky?"

Dean nodded.

"Kind of like you did with this place," Sam added. "I mean, here I was thinking it was the worst part of your life, and it turns out it was the best. Why'd you ever leave?"

Dean stopped walking and glanced back at the house. "Yeah, it was a good time—a chance to live a normal life, and all. And yeah, maybe I was chasing this when you told me to have the picket fence, when I thought of Lisa. But it wasn't the best time of my life."

"It wasn't?"

"Nah." Dean shook his head. "How could it be without my baby brother?"

Sam grinned, his eyes suddenly feeling damp. Dean turned to walk away, but Sam stopped him. "Dean."

Dean turned back.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For always being there—for having my back. Look, I know it hasn't always been easy—"

Dean scoffed. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

He grinned at Sam and clapped him on the shoulder and Sam thought, not for the first time and probably not for the last, that he had the best big brother in the world.

* * *

_He was fastening his tie, making sure it looked just right. He thought the red looked good against the blue-and-white-striped button down shirt. He caught sight of Sonny entering the room in the mirror, and turned._

_Sonny gave him a look-over. "Oh, look at you. You clean up good!"_

_Dean felt his face grow hot. "Thanks. You know, uh, I've never actually been to one of these school dances before."_

_Sonny's face grew solemn. "Look, about that, Dean…"_

_Dean felt his heart flop. Had something gone wrong with the dance? Had Aaron cancelled?_

"_Your old man's outside and… man, he's really something." Sonny gave a rueful chuckle. "I tried to tell him what a big night it was for you, Dean, and ask him if he could come back later, but he just said to tell you he had a job. Said you'd know what that means."_

_Dean looked over at his bedside table. There was a framed picture of him and Aaron, sitting on the porch swing, guitar in their laps, smiling. He could feel Sonny watching him, and tried to hold back the tears. For some reason it was always easier to keep from crying when he was around Dad. With Sonny… he just let it out._

"_You know," Sonny said, voice low, "After I got out of jail, this place gave me a second chance, and it's done the same for you, too."_

_Dean nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak._

"_So if you want, I'll stick my neck out for you, and I'll fight for you to stay._

_Dean turned, speechless—but this time with shock. Sonny would do that for him? Forget anybody standing up to Dad—not even Bobby stood up to Dad—just the idea of anyone sticking their neck out for Dean for any reason was—was—_

_He heard the honk of the Impala's horn and went to the window to look._

_There, in the backseat, playing with a plane or spaceship, was Sam. Sammy, with his floppy hair and tiny nose. Sammy, the little brother he hadn't seen in two months._

_Kid was twelve and still played with plastic toys. Jesus._

_Dean laughed, the sound working past the lump in his throat, and turned back to Sonny, holding out his hand. Sonny took it and shook it._

"_Kung-Fu grip," Sonny said, smiling._

"_Sonny," Dean swallowed. "Thank you—for everything. But I have to go."_

_Sonny held out his arms and Dean stepped into them, allowing himself one last hug._

_Then he went back to his brother._

* * *

**Yes, the Kate that Sam mentions is the Kate from "Bitten", episode four of season eight. I thought it was a fantastic standalone episode despite the lack of screen time for the Winchesters, and I really wanted Kate to have a happy ending.**


	11. This Better Not Be Chuck's Doing

**In which nephilim exist and Dean Winchester's life has become a soap opera.**

* * *

"There she is."

Dean and Sam watched as the blonde girl picked the front lock on the door of the house. It looked like typical suburban fare, and Sam was sure the Impala looked pretty out of place. "Think we should follow?" Sam asked.

"Are demons liars?" Dean asked, getting out of the car. "I've got upstairs. You take down."

They followed the girl and entered the house after her, keeping their footsteps light. Sam looked around but saw no sign of the blonde girl or anyone else, but began checking the ground floor diligently as Dean made his way upstairs. When he reached the back door he found what looked like a small closet door propped open, and peered into it.

Instead of a closet, he found steps leading downwards.

"It's always the basement," he muttered, slowly making his way down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom he found himself in a large basement with dirt floors, with shelves of ingredients lining the walls. In the center was the cliché cauldron, bubbling away. And standing at the cauldron, carefully sprinkling some kind of herb into it, was the blonde girl.

Sam sighed. "And here I was thinking you were the good guy."

The girl looked up, surprise briefly showing on her face before she relaxed into a smirk. "Hello to you too, Gigantor. And I am the good guy."

"I'm the bad guy."

Sam spun around to find himself on the business end of a rather large knife. The woman holding the knife, someone Sam vaguely recognized as working at the diner but couldn't recall the name of, glared at him. "Nice of you to poke your nose where it doesn't belong, Agent," she said.

"Leave him alone, Dara."

The woman glared at the blonde girl. "I don't think so."

"Agent?" The blonde girl said. "You been keeping my present safe for me?"

"I'm wearing it now," Sam informed her.

"Good."

"Sam?" Dean reached the foot of the stairs, gun in hand. "Whoa. This is quite the party."

Dara waved her hand and Dean was flung against the opposite wall, hitting his head and getting knocked out. Dara then raised her hand but the blonde girl muttered something and when Dara clenched her hand into a fist, Dean's body did nothing.

"What?" Dara frowned, confused that her powers weren't working on Dean.

"Leave them alone," the blonde girl said. "They did nothing to you." She had her arm up, palm out, and Sam knew instinctively that she was somehow protecting Dean.

"They're in my way," Dara snarled.

"Agent, I suggest you stay out of the way," the blonde girl warned Sam.

"I'll keep him out of the way," Dara replied, turning and trying to stab Sam.

The knife went into Sam's body—he could feel it sinking into the muscle—but nothing happened. It was like sticking a knife in butter. No blood flowed. He didn't even feel pain. Dara yanked the knife out, staring in shock. "What?"

"The path of true witchcraft is long," the blonde girl stated. "The old ways are difficult to learn, but lead to greater strength and ability than the shake n' bake black magic you and others practice."

"Don't get preachy on me, _child_," Dara retorted. "And step away from that cauldron."

"I know what spell you're brewing," the blonde girl told her. "And I'm telling you now, don't do it. Don't cast it."

"I don't think so." Dara approached the cauldron as the blonde girl slowly backed away from it, back towards Sam. "I've waited too long for this."

"I'm telling you, there's a better way," the blonde girl said. "I'll teach you. You don't have to do this."

"Oh, but I do." Dara set down her knife and bent over the cauldron, chanting in a low voice.

"Hey, hotshot," the blonde girl said, glancing over at Sam. "I suggest you cover your eyes."

Dara's chanting grew louder.

"Agent! Cover your eyes now!"

Sam closed his eyes, throwing his hand over them for good measure, just as Dara let out a scream. He kept his eyes closed through the whole thing, until he scream died away and there was nothing but silence, so he didn't get to see as Dara's entire body melted away like molten metal, the flesh flowing away from the bone until even the skeleton itself was turning into liquid.

"That was rather like _Raiders of the Lost Ark_," the blonde girl commented. "Okay, Agent. It's safe for kiddies to look again."

Sam opened his eyes and stared at the puddle that had been Dara. "You killed her," he stated.

"She killed herself." The blonde girl went over to the cauldron and snapped her fingers. The contents of the cauldron began to burn away into nothingness. "I simply added an ingredient to her spell. It was her choice to go ahead with it."

"You let her die."

"I gave her a choice. She got what she deserved. Just desserts."

"Like that man in the diner?"

The girl smiled. It was a dark and grim thing. "He caused fear in those who were helpless. It was only fair that he feel the same way." She looked over at the puddle. "She was going to kill dozens of people with this spell. She damned herself."

"You helped her."

"Are you going to stand here all day playing moral high ground with me?" The girl replied. "I saved your life, and your partner's, if I'm not mistaken. A little gratitude would be nice."

On the last sentence she wiggled her head, a corner of her mouth tugging upwards, and again Sam had a feeling of déjà vu.

"You remind me of someone," he told her.

"I've been told I look like Kirsten Dunst," the girl replied. She walked over to Dean and took a small vial out of her pocket, opening it and waving it under his nose.

Dean awoke with a start, sneezing. "What the hell?" He asked. "What was that?"

"You don't want to know," the girl admitted. "But trust me, it works better than smelling salts."

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

The girl stiffened at the mention of Dean's name, and she openly gaped at them. "Dean?" She asked. "Your name is Dean?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

The girl looked from Dean, to Sam, to Dean, to Sam, and back again. "I can't believe it. I am such an idiot."

"What?" Sam asked.

"I saw you half a dozen times the past few days and I had no idea?" The girl looked about ready to smack her forehead. "Of course. I should have known something was up when you accepted the whole witch thing. And the names!" She pointed accusingly at Sam. "Agents Stark and Banner? Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Iron Man and the Hulk. Of all the most obvious fake names out there."

"The Avengers are awesome," Dean said defensively.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Well, at least he got your descriptions right. One tall moose and a Greek god with pouty lips."

"What?" Sam frowned. "Who described us as that?"

"You know who we are?" Dean said, immediately going on the defensive.

"Yes I know who you are, Dean Winchester. And that giant there is your younger brother Sam. You're hunters."

"And who are you?"

"Monday Evans. Witch. And demigod. Nice to meet you."

"And how do you know who we are?" Sam asked.

"Because I've been tracking you two down for over a year now," the girl replied. "Trust me, you're harder to find then a ghost. And I speak from experience."

"Why are you tracking us?" Dean demanded.

"Actually, I'm not tracking you," the girl amended. "But if you think tracking you two was hard, try tracking an angel."

"An angel?"

"I'm after the angel Castiel," the girl said. "And a little birdie told me that if I wanted to find Castiel, I had to find Dean Winchester. So," She turned to Dean. "Do me a favor and call up your boyfriend."

Dean and Sam stared at each other. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

* * *

They waited until they got back to their motel room to call Castiel. Sam kept an eye on the girl while Dean spoke with Cas outside of the room, keeping his voice down. Not two seconds later the angel appeared in the room, gazing around suspiciously.

"Wow." Monday stood up and backed away. "Sorry. You're, uh, kind of intimidating. Wow. You, uh, have three heads?"

Dean stared at her. "Three heads?"

Cas also appeared pretty surprised. "You can see my true form?"

Monday nodded. Cas's eyebrows drew together, but he said nothing. Monday seemed to take that as her cue and dug into her back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. "I was told to give this to you," she said, handing it to Castiel. Dean peered over Cas's shoulder and saw that only one thing was drawn on the paper: a capital V with a slash on top of one stem and a strange curled in bit on the other. Over the V was an arch with several lines shooting out from it.

"Where did you get this?" Castiel demanded, looking up at the girl. Dean knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that stare. "Who gave it to you?"

"I don't know," Monday replied. "He didn't give me a name and I didn't see his face. He just said that I had to give that to you—that you would know how he was when you saw it, and you'd know that you could trust me. He then said I had to help you in your quest."

"Did he say what this quest was?"

Monday tilted her head to the side in a gesture that Dean found alarmingly similar to Cas's. "Something about closing the Gates of Heaven."

Cas dropped the piece of paper and Dean felt his stomach drop. Who the hell was this person and how did they know what Cas and Dean were up to?

"He said…" Monday frowned, as if trying to recall something. "He said that I'd be a great asset to your quest, and that when the time came he'd be there to aid you."

"Wait a second," Sam cut in. "Why would you agree to this? What did he offer you in return?"

Monday glanced over at him, then took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. "When I was five, I watched my mother be murdered."

* * *

"_Mama?"_

"_C'mere, baby. Into the closet."_

"_Mama, what's that howling?"_

"_It's nothing, honey. Just stay in here, okay? You'll be safe in here. Whatever you do, no matter what you see or hear, you can't leave this closet. Don't leave!"_

_A kiss to her forehead. "I love you, baby. Don't ever forget that. Mama loves you so much."_

_The closet door is closed and locked._

"_Mama!"_

_The growling is louder. There is a howl that chills her. She knows, with the knowledge of truth that all small children possess, that there is something beyond the normal world out there._

_She pressed her eye to the crack in the door, and she sees it._

_Or, rather, she doesn't._

_She sees her mother ripped from groin to throat. She sees the blood spray across the floor. She sees her mother fall._

_But she never sees the attacker._

_She screams, and screams, and screams, pounding against the closet door._

_She is still screaming when the police find her._

* * *

"Invisible monsters?"

Monday nodded.

"Sounds like hellhounds," Sam said.

Monday shrugged. "Maybe. If I could go back in time and see it all again, I'd know, but I was five. I was terrified—who knows if I remember anything properly?"

"What happened after?"

Monday made a derisive noise. "The police thought it was a hate crime."

"Hate crime?"

"My mother was very open about her witchcraft. She sought to promote positivity, and to heal people. She hated how black magic was all that people were practicing. She was a midwife, and actually healed most people with herbal remedies. All natural, no magic needed. She reached out to the Wiccan community as well. The police thought maybe in my fear that I'd confused myself."

"Did you ever find out exactly what happened?"

"I know why she died." Monday twisted a ring on her right middle finger. It was a snake, wrapping itself multiple times around. It had glittering eyes. "My mom kept a notebook—recorded every spell she ever did. They were written in their original language—Latin or hieroglyphs or whatever—and I figured out what happened.

"My mom communed with the Old Gods, the pagan gods, just as all true witches do. We look to them for guidance and protection, because they are the ones that taught us magic in the first place as a reward for fervent worshippers and to enable their priests to help people in the gods' stead. My mother needed something from a god, so she summoned him.

"Nine months after she cast that spell, I was born. I don't think having a child was her goal when she cast the spell. I think that the god was a charmer, as they always are, they had a little fun."

"And they forgot to wrap it before they tapped it?" Dean quipped.

Monday rolled her eyes. "Yeah. But being a demigod isn't easy. There are so few demigods out there. It's partially because we're a magnet for monsters and there's always one god that doesn't like our parent god and so kills us for revenge but it's also because, well, we're half immortal. Imagine trying to stuff lightning inside of a bottle. That's what happens when you create a demigod. We've got all of this immortal power running in our veins, and sometimes our mortal body can't contain it.

"I think that's what happened with me. All of my mom's spells immediately after I was born were healing spells. And then she cast another one, summoning another god. He has a lot of names—Papa Legba, Janus—but he's one of the oldest and most powerful. Some say he rules the Underworld and others say he just guards the gates, but everyone agrees that he's in the business of buying souls."

"So your mother sold her soul to this guy," Dean said, "In exchange for your health."

"Yes." Monday nodded. "And the person who gave me that note said that you knew how to contact this god. That if I helped you, you'd deliver him to me and I could finally have my revenge."

Dean could sympathize.

"No." Castiel said.

Monday blinked. "No?"

"I will not be accepting your services," Castiel said. "I have no way of trusting you."

Monday glared at him. "Fuck you."

"You honestly expect me to believe that you don't know who sent you to me, or why?" Cas replied.

To Dean's surprise, the girl got right up in Cas's face. "I didn't endure three years of hell in foster care because I was a 'demon child' or spend the past ten years on the streets learning magic on the go, and then spend an entire year tracking these two bozos down, for you to look down your nose at me and tell me that you can't trust me."

Monday turned and swung open the motel door, slamming it behind her.

Dean frowned. "We can trust her, Cas."

"She could be working for Naomi, Dean," Cas replied. "We have no way of verifying her story."

"When I went through that wardrobe and saw all the things I told you about, she was there."

Castiel squinted. "She was?"

"Not in all of them, but enough. Strange thing was, she was always related to you—your sister or niece or something."

"But Dean, she lied to us."

"How so?"

"She's not a demigod." Castiel bent down and picked up the piece of paper that he'd dropped. "She's a nephilim."

"Nephilim?" Sam said. "Like half angel, half human?"

"Yes. Only nephilim can see an angel's true form besides angels themselves, and demons."

Dean pointed at the piece of paper. "Cas? He asked. "What's that?"

Castiel held it up. "The symbol for Gabriel's horn. He would use it to summon the angels to battle, or when God wished to speak with all of us."

Sam groaned. "Of course."

"What?"

"Monday. She kept reminding me of someone," Sam said. "With the snapping fingers and that expression she got on her face… and just desserts!"

"Just desserts?" Dean asked.

"Dean," Sam said. "What angel do we know of that spent decades, if not centuries, masquerading as a god?"

Dean rubbed his forehead. "Gabriel. Monday's mom summoned Gabriel as Loki, didn't she?"

Sam nodded. "And I'll bet she never knew who he really was."

"Demigods and nephilim have similarities," Cas said. "And there have been neither for centuries. It would be easy for Monday's mother to have mixed them up."

"Then who sent Monday?" Sam asked.

"We'll figure that out later," Dean said, opening the door. "This sounds like something Chuck would write."

"Where are you going?"

"To get Monday back."

* * *

Monday was halfway across the parking lot by the time he caught up with her. "Hey!"

She turned, frowning at him. "What?"

It was a long shot, but Dean knew he had to take it. If it worked, he knew he'd have her trust. "How old were you when you started?"

"Started what?"

"Turning tricks."

Monday stared at him.

"I was fourteen," Dean offered.

Monday just kept staring. Dean rolled his eyes. "Look. You said your mom died when you were five, and you spent three years in foster care, plus ten years on the streets. That means you ran away when you were eight, and you're eighteen now. In my experience, hustling pool and picking pockets isn't enough to keep you from starving, and you're a pretty girl."

"Thirteen," Monday said. Her tone was flat. "They said I looked real pretty on my knees."

"They said I had cocksucking lips."

Monday narrowed her eyes. "Before or after?"

He knew what she meant. "Trick question," he answered. "Nobody's going to pay you before, but if you wait until after they'll split. You get half up front and half afterwards."

Monday stared at him for a long moment. Then, so tiny and fleeting he almost missed it, she smiled, and Dean knew. This was the girl he'd seen in the wardrobe—the only person who appeared more than once that he didn't recognize.

He stuck out his hand. "Dean Winchester."

"Monday Evans."

They shook hands, and he led her back to the motel.

* * *

"So—wait." Monday looked from Sam to Dean to Cas to Dean to Sam to Dean to Cas again. "I'm a nephilim?"

"Yes," Cas answered.

"No, no way." Monday shook her head. "Nephilim don't exist."

"You are proof of the contrary," Cas replied.

"Look, I didn't even believe in angels until I was asked to look for one," Monday replied. "This is kind of a lot to take in."

"How'd he prove it to you?" Dean asked.

"What?"

"The guy that sent you on this search for Cas—what'd he do to prove that angels existed?"

Monday reached behind herself and drew it out from where she'd been hiding it, tucked under her shirt into the small of her back. It had been a while since Dean had seen one, but he still knew what it was.

Monday held the archangel blade aloft, towards Cas. Her grip was firm but unskilled. It was like she was holding a butcher knife instead of a proper blade, intended for battle.

"Who's is that?" Dean asked.

Castiel came forward and took it from Monday, examining it. "The guy gave it to me," she told him. "I'd never seen anything like it. I knew… I knew it wasn't of this earth." She looked up at Cas. "He said it was mine by right."

"Yes, it would be," Cas murmured. "This is Gabriel's blade."

"Gabriel's?" Sam asked.

"Yes. When an archangel falls, his blade is given to whoever is his successor. Lucifer's and Michael's blades are still with them in the Pit, and Gabriel's vanished when he did. Raphael's is in its ceremonial resting place in Heaven." Cas handed the blade back to Monday, who took it gingerly. "I will teach you how to wield it."

"What?" Monday looked taken aback. Dean couldn't blame her.

"As Gabriel's daughter, and with no archangel having been chosen to replace him, the blade rightly belongs to you," Cas explained.

"Look, no offense, but I thought I'd find you, do whatever task you needed me to, get the location of the god that killed my mother and move on from there," Monday said. "I didn't sign up for this."

"We never do," Dean muttered. In a louder voice he said, "All right. Monday, whoever sent us to you thought you'd be useful to us. In what way, we don't know. But we know a few things about being some asshat's pawn, so you're with us now."

Monday twisted her ring around on her finger. "Thanks. I guess."

"How do you hide your true form?" Cas asked.

"Her what now?" Sam asked, bewildered puppy look firmly in place. Guy was going to have a field day researching this, Dean just knew it.

"Monday is half angel, half human. Grace is a part of her biology. She should have more… otherworldly qualities to her."

"What, you mean my scars?" Monday held out her arms. Suddenly, like makeup being washed off, pink puckered scars revealed themselves. They ran from her elbows down to her knuckles. Dean had seen enough scars in his time to know—those were from a fire.

"I saw those!" Sam said excitedly, standing up. "Or a hint of them, anyway. When we interviewed you in the diner. I blinked and they were gone."

"I cover them using a spell, so that people don't ask questions," Monday explained, running a thumb over the marred skin. "But the spell is dependent on my level of concentration."

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"When I was in foster care, I was called a 'demon child'—because of my mom. They tried to purify me, cleanse me of my sins." Monday clenched her hands. "They quickly learned that I healed from whatever they did. I don't heal immediately, and I still need assistance—if I break a bone and it's not set properly it'll heal wrong, that's why I have a wonky hip—but it's faster than most people. So my foster mom decided they needed to use 'holy instruments' or whatever, and they got what they said was holy oil. They used it to start the fire. I thought, they'd done the passing me through fire before and it hurt but I healed, so I wasn't frightened. But this time—it was like my soul was on fire. I couldn't move. I screamed and screamed and eventually I know they pulled me out—thing is, they just passed my arms through. They never held them over the fire, just sort of moved them through like baptism or something. But one touch was all it took." Monday held up her hands, glaring at them as if they'd betrayed her.

"So you are susceptible to holy oil and holy fire, just like angels," Sam said. "That is so cool."

One angel, a hunter, and a nephilim all stared at him. Sam backpedaled. "Not that you got burned, I mean, but—you know."

"That's not your true form," Cas said. His brow furrowed. Dean knew that look—it was the _I'm thinking faster than you are because I am a superior being_ look.

"Take off your ring."

Monday looked down. "What? No. My mom gave this to me. It's the only thing I have of her."

Cas held out his hand. "I will give it right back. Just take it off."

Monday looked down at it, hesitant.

Dean thought he had an idea of what Cas was getting at.

"Monday," he said. "Why'd your mom give you the ring?"

"I'm a demigod—or she thought I was. We're targeted by monsters and gods. It hides me from them, cloaks me so they can't find me."

Cas nodded. "That would be why no angels or demons found and killed you. Nephilim stand out to us."

"And have you ever taken the ring off?" Dean asked.

Monday shook her head. "It's enchanted to change size so it always fits, and if I throw it away or lose it, it always reappears on my finger."

"What, like Percy Jackson's pen?"

Monday stared at him. "What?"

"You're how old and you've never heard of—never mind." Dean waved it off. "Look, your mom put that on you to cloak you, right?"

Monday nodded.

"So maybe it didn't so much cloak you as… suppress your not-human side?" Dean offered. "If you take it off, your mojo will show."

"Grace," Cas corrected.

"Right. What he said."

Monday looked down at her ring, twisting it.

"It's not like you're going to explode," Dean added.

Famous last words.

Monday took the ring off and placed it in Castiel's hand. For a moment, nothing happened. Sam squinted, as if by sheer willpower he could see Monday's molecules shifting.

"See?" Monday gestured at herself. "Nothing ha—"

Monday suddenly doubled over, a scream wrenching itself out of her body. Sam was so startled he stumbled backwards over the chair, and even Cas looked pretty surprised. He stretched out a hand and Dean found himself flung backwards into the far wall. The last thing he saw was white light leaking out of Monday's mouth and eyes before his sight and hearing suddenly vanished.

When his sense returned to him, he had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing things properly.

Monday was kneeling on the floor, hands braced out in front of her. Cas had a hand on her shoulder and was murmuring in Enochian, probably to soothe her. There was glass shattered everywhere, and Dean knew that Cas had been the one to block his senses—out of protection. Looking across the room he could see Sam blinking, eyes wide, and he knew that Cas had blocked Sam's senses as well.

But what really held his attention was Monday.

She had suddenly grown two extra fingers on each hand and two extra toes on each foot, the nails of each extending and curving into claws that dug into the hideous lime green motel room carpet. Her eyes were pupil-less and glowing a light gray, and when she spoke it sounded like there was a deep, rumbling, doom-and-gloom voice echoing her words—her true voice, Dean assumed.

And then there were the wings.

Monday's back and shoulders were bloody and her skin was torn, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the wings must have burst from her back. They rose high above her back, arching regally, and Dean had to guess they were about six feet high. Dean couldn't always see the feathers—they appeared to reflect or refract the light around them, making them nearly invisible unless viewed from the right angle. But when they were…

They looked metallic, but at the same time they looked like the rainbows found in puddles of oil. They were darker than pitch, than any lightless basement or starless night Dean had ever seen, but they shone as bright as Cas's Grace. They were there, and yet not there, tangible and intangible all at once. They were darkness and light. They were pure color and they were smoky shadow. They were magnificent.

Cas murmured something, and obediently Monday's wings stretched out. She was gritting her teeth and made a small noise of pain. Dean stood up, moving to help her, but Cas held up a hand.

"She needs to do this on her own, Dean."

"Like butterflies," Sam blurted out. "They need to stretch their wings when they first emerge from chrysalis, to get the blood flowing."

"Something like that," Cas acknowledged.

Monday's wings stretched out to their full length. Dean figured they were about ten feet across from wingtip to wingtip.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

Monday trembled, biting her lip. "It hurts," she admitted.

Cas moved his hand to her back, and in a blink the blood and torn skin had vanished. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding as if he could feel Monday's pain himself.

"What happened?" Sam asked, getting up.

"I can only guess," Cas said, helping Monday to stand. "Humans go through puberty, unlike angels, which were simply brought into existence already fully formed. Monday, being half human, would develop her angelic anatomy in the human way—growing it slowly, over time. But with the ring suppressing it…"

"You're saying she just went through angel puberty in a minute?" Dean asked. No wonder the girl was shaking.

Monday tried to take a step, wobbled, and clutched tightly at Cas's trenchcoat. "How the hell am I supposed to balance?" She demanded. "These weigh a ton!"

"You'll get used to it," Cas replied. He looked up at Dean. "Perhaps we should go back to the Bunker. I'm afraid I have a lot of training to put her through."

"Training?" Monday sounded appalled. "I'm a witch, not an angel."

"I'm sure we could use a witch on our team," Sam cut in. "Ruby was a witch when she was human, and that knowledge saved us a couple of times."

"That reminds me," Monday mumbled. "Sarah says thanks for not stopping by. I'm pretty sure it was sarcastic."

Sam winced and Dean grinned. "Wasn't she the one I told you to marry?"

"Shut up."

"And Cara, too—love 'em and leave 'em, that's Sammy's type—"

"Dean, I will restart the prank war."

"Dean," Cas graveled. "We really should get back."

Dean looked down at Monday, who was looking pale and sweaty and almost completely leaning on Cas for support.

"All right, we'll head back."

Cas started helping Monday walk out to the Impala. Sam leaned into Dean on their way out. "Gabriel's nephilim daughter shows up out of nowhere sent from a mysterious stranger?" Sam said. "Sounds like something from a soap opera."

"Or Chuck's books." Dean glared up at the ceiling, just in case. "In any case, we got ourselves a knew pair of hands. And if she'll help us close the Gates of Heaven, so much the better."

"I wonder who sent her," Sam mused.

"Probably someone rebelling against Naomi," Dean replied.

"Yeah, but how did they know Monday existed? She was hidden from angels and demons because of the ring. How did they find her?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." Dean shrugged. "Look, Sammy, I don't have answers. But she seems like a good kid. Over her head now that she's, y'know, got wings and is apparently Cas's new apprentice but hey, she's on our side. And she doesn't like being played anymore than we do. Last time we went up against Heaven and Hell it was just us, Bobby, and Cas. What we have now is practically an army."

Sam nodded. "I know," he replied. "I just want to be careful."

Dean watched Cas help Monday into the backseat of the Impala, where the girl lay down with her wings curled around her like a feathery cocoon. Dean didn't have a clue who'd sent her or why, but he did know a lost kid when he saw one. Long-lost daughter, soap opera material, and witch—or not—Monday was one of them now.

The only question left was what part would they all play in the times ahead.

* * *

**Sorry if this seems like a bit of an information dump. Up next is a fluffy chapter to give the characters a chance to settle in and grow closer.**


	12. Once Upon a Winter's Morn

**In which everyone gets settled in and becomes suspiciously like a family, and much fluff (and sex) ensues.**

* * *

Monday burst into the bunker, panting hard, sweat dripping down her red face. "Twenty miles!" She shouted. Aside from the worn-out look, Monday appeared perfectly normal. After some testing, Cas had figured that now her 'puberty' had finished the ring should simply cloak her as intended, so Monday had taken to wearing it around the bunker. After all a winged, clawed girl with glowing eyes and a freaky deep voice tended to unnerve people.

And her wings kept knocking things over.

"Got it!" Sam shouted back, scribbling in a notebook.

Dean looked up from the latest Sanderson novel. "Sam," he said slowly, "What are you doing to the nephilim?"

"Testing angel weaknesses and strengths," Sam explained as Monday came down the steps. "We figured, if she can be burned by holy fire, then what other angelic traits does she have? Right now we're testing banishing sigils."

"Damn thing sent me twenty miles out to the middle of nowhere," Monday grumbled.

"Which direction?" Sam asked.

"South. I landed in a fucking cornfield."

Dean rubbed his forehead. He was too old for this shit. "Sam, stop experimenting on her. She's not a guinea pig."

Monday snorted. "You should've seen the look on Cas's face when Sam said we had a guinea pig. Dude's face lit up like Christmas." She pointed at Dean. "Get him a guinea pig for your next anniversary."

"No pets," Dean replied. "Except you."

"Hey!"

"Seriously Sam," Dean warned. "If I hear she broke a wing or something because you just had to record something 'for posterity'—"

"Yes, Dean." Sam's tone was mocking.

Dean turned back to his book with a sigh.

"Okay, so let's see what happens with an imprisoning sigil."

"Dammit Sam!"

"Sam, leave Monday alone. She's not an experiment," Amelia said, entering from a side hallway.

Sam obediently closed his notebook, ignoring Monday and Dean's mutual _whipped_ faces. "How's Becky?"

"All right. Baby should be coming right on time." Amelia plopped herself down in a chair next to Sam. "Until then, it's giving her all manner of hell. Oh! I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Sam and Dean both replied.

Monday cocked her head. "What?"

"It's a long story," Sam said.

Telling Monday their history—that was another thing Dean had to do. Since taking Monday in, both Dean and Cas had their hands full. Cas was training Monday in how to use her Grace and fight using the archangel blade, and Dean was educating her in how to be a hunter. They'd also come across a real stumbling block when they'd realized that while Monday instinctively understood Enochian, both written and spoken, she couldn't read.

Well, all right, she could read Egyptian hieroglyphs and a few other ancient languages because that was what her mother's spells were written in, but English utterly failed her. Running away from home at age eight tended to terminate your school days.

Monday perked up just as Cas entered the room. Her ability to sense Cas before she could see him had something to do with her ability to see the true form of angels and demons—a sort of early defense warning, as Cas had put it. While the three heads and other weird aspects of Cas's true form weren't mentioned again, Monday had no problem waxing poetic about Cas's wings. According to the blonde her own wings looked drab in comparison. (Although Monday tended to complain about any aspect of her angel heritage so that wasn't much of a surprise.)

Dean wasn't jealous. What? No. Really.

"What happened to you?" Cas asked, frowning at Monday's condition.

"We were testing the effect of banishing sigils," Sam explained.

"So far I have all of the weaknesses of angels and none of the strengths, unless these feathers count," Monday complained.

Dean, knowing the argument that was coming, tried to go back to his book but found it tugged out of his hands by Charlie.

"I have news!" She said.

Kevin poked his head around her. "Yeah, I figured out where the angel tablet is—ow!"

Charlie punched him. "Not that!"

"Wait, you figured out where the tablet is?"

"Not exactly. It's in something called a Lucifer's Crypt. Apparently Azazel created several around the world to hide powerful artifacts that the demons could use—or their enemies could use against them—during the Apocalypse." Kevin waved his notes in the air. "The Men of Letters searched all except two. They never got to them because they were interrupted by the finding of the demon tablet and Abaddon."

"How'd you find this?"

"Charlie finished organizing yesterday."

Dean looked at Charlie. "And you didn't tell us?"

"This is more important!" Charlie protested. She grinned. "Guess what's coming up?"

"Becky's baby?"

"No, before that."

Dean stared at her, eyebrows raised. "You're going to have to tell me, Charlie." What could possibly be more important that finding the angel tablet and having everything in this damn place organized?

"Christmas!" Charlie's grin could have lit up a small building. "It's in two weeks!"

Dean groaned. "Look, Charlie, we're not really the kind of people who—"

"Christmas?" Amelia asked, sitting up straight from where she'd been slumping on the table.

"Christmas?" Cas sounded almost puzzled.

Monday looked from one adult to another. "We're—we're going to celebrate Christmas?" She asked. She looked over at Dean. "With a tree and everything?"

Dean looked over at Charlie, vibrating with excitement, to Kevin, who needed any source of happiness and relaxation he could get, to Amelia, who already looked like she was planning where to put the tree, to Cas, who looked intrigued against his will, to Monday, who looked like a little five year old, hope shining on her face. Kid probably hadn't had a proper Christmas since her mom died. And of course Garth and Becky would just be all over it, dorks that they were. Plus Adam needed a break as much as any of them—he was looking kind of sickly lately.

Dean looked over at Sam. It was Sammy's idea that they have Christmas all those years ago. If he wanted it again…

Sam gave a small smile. "It really is only two weeks away, isn't it? We should probably get on it."

Charlie cheered, Kevin whooped, and Monday looked like she just might explode from joy. Knowing her half-angel side, that probably wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Amelia kissed Sam's cheek and whispered what was probably a _thank you_.

"I don't understand," Cas said. "Jesus was born in what is the beginning of July on your calendars."

Dean stood up and looped an arm around Cas's waist. "It's tradition, Cas. Just go with it."

Judging by Cas's stony expression, he had a few choice thoughts about 'tradition'.

* * *

Charlie eagerly stepped into the role of Christmas Grandmaster. She called a meeting in the main room, stood on a table, and dictated everyone's roles.

"Dean," she said, pointing. "You're in charge of food. Christmas dinner, Christmas Eve dinner, Christmas breakfast, alcohol—you get the idea."

Dean gave her a mock salute. Charlie pointed at Adam, Kevin, and Monday. "All right munchkins."

"'Scuse me?" Monday replied.

"You're in charge of decorations. Go wild."

"Do we have a budget?" Kevin asked.

"You have credit cards with the names of some slimy corporate executives on them." Charlie handed them to Adam—a pretty smart choice in Dean's opinion, since neither Kevin would probably try to bite off more than he could chew and nobody in their right mind trusted Monday with money unless they wanted to see it all go towards buying candy bars. She had definitely inherited Gabriel's sweet tooth.

"Amelia, you're in charge of presents. Make sure everybody gets someone something and nobody gives duplicate presents. And budget, if necessary."

Amelia nodded.

"Garth, you're in charge of the Christmas tree."

Dean bit back his groan. Garth was going to go into fits of joy over this one.

"Sam, you are hereby appointed as my assistant,"

Sam muttered a good-natured insult.

"And Cas, you are in charge of helping Dean and learning about the wonders of Christmas. Becky, you sit back and put your feet up."

Becky gave a thumbs-up. Cas just looked confused by everything.

"All right people! We have two weeks to turn this into a winter wonderland so let's get moving!"

Dean concluded that while they were in no danger of dying, this was a whole lot weirder than the Apocalypse. Or even the Leviathan.

* * *

"Okay Jody," Sam said. "That's great." He smiled at Amelia as she came to sit down next to him. "Uh-huh."

He'd hoped that Sonny and Jody would get a few kids and teens, but he hadn't expected them to get such an influx. Thanks to Kate, they'd gotten ten kids within the first month—not counting Teddy, who Jody reported had become her shadow and loved taste-testing her vegetarian recipes.

_We've got a vampire feeder—name's Annie Jones but insists we call her Alex. Real help around the house and sweet underneath all that bluster. She was a vampire when she came to us but she was newly turned so we cured her. We have two werewolves, twins, more trouble than they're worth—hey, put that down! Sorry about that. Plus three hunter orphans—parents are dead or just missing._

"Sounds like you have your hands full."

_Nah, they're all good kids. We got a ghoul as well, Thomas. He's real quiet but Sonny's got a way with him. Our newest addition is Laura, a vetala. Has all the boys in town wrapped around her finger, that one. Plus there's Sara, she's a succubus, and Ned, a siren. They're thick as thieves._

"Okay. So we know that a few of those species survived." Sam made a note in his notebook. "Garth's been working with other hunters, so hopefully soon we'll know what monsters are gone for good and which ones still have a few lurking about. How's Sonny taking all of this?"

_Oh, he's great. Treats them just like normal kids. I think it's good for them._

Sam smirked. Jody had been rather keen to sing Sonny's praises a few minutes ago, and Sam could almost hear the blush in her voice. It was good for her, he thought. She got to use her 'mom voice' again and have a purpose without putting her life in danger the way hunting did.

And, okay, maybe Sam had been playing matchmaker when he'd suggested she and Sonny work together.

Not that he was ever going to tell them.

_Anyway I should make sure the kids are doing their homework. Teddy says hi._

"Tell him we say hi back."

_You look after yourselves, all right? And make sure you're feeding that girl._

Sam had told Jody about Monday when he'd initially called her about Sonny, when Jody had asked if a blonde teenager had tracked them down.

_She was thin as a minute when I ran into her._

"Yes, Jody. Trust me. Dean's practically going mama bear on her." Not that Monday was all that appreciative, if the arguments coming from the shooting gallery room were anything to go by.

_All right. Talk to you soon, Sam._

"Take care."

Sam hung up and looked over at Amelia, who smiled at him. "Everything going well?"

"Better than expected, actually." Sam grinned. "At this rate we'll have a complete picture of the monster situation within a year. And a lot of kids will be rehabilitated."

"So, I was thinking…" Amelia twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "Remember the conversation we had about Adam?"

"Back at the motel? Yeah. Is he okay?"

Sam had found a few suspiciously bloody tissues in Adam's bedroom trashcan when it was Sam's turn to take out the garbage last week, but for the most part he'd seemed all right.

"It's not about that, it's about… the fake conversation we had."

Sam felt his body seize up. "Yeah. About that."

"I just, I know things are a little up in the air right now," Amelia started. Sam hadn't seen her this nervous since the dinner with her dad. "And you don't—you don't have to answer, this isn't supposed to be a pressure sort of thing, but—"

"Sam!"

Charlie grabbed him, yanking him off of the couch. "I need someone tall to hang the mistletoe."

"But—"

"Quickly! Before Dean gets back with the groceries!"

Charlie pushed him out of the room, and Sam mouthed _we'll talk later_ at Amelia, who nodded.

Charlie handed Sam the nails and hammer and picked up a big pile of mistletoe. "We'll start in the kitchen."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with your attempt to catch Dean and Cas in the act, would it?"

"If I get a picture before Becky, I win fifty bucks. Move your ass."

Sam climbed up the small stepladder Charlie had procured and started to work. "Hey, Charlie," he said. "Is there any limit to your hacking skills?"

Charlie shrugged. "I don't think so. I hacked into the Pentagon a couple of times and nobody's nailed me yet."

"So you could, theoretically, alter someone's legal files?"

"Sure. No biggie." Charlie handed him the first clump of mistletoe. "Why? What's up?"

Sam carefully hung the mistletoe from the nail. "Amelia and I have been dating for about six months now."

"Yes. We woefully single people have noticed."

"And, uh, last time I was in a relationship it took me four years to plan the proposal."

"I know. With Jess. It's in the books."

Sam gave her a look as he got off the ladder and they moved on to the next spot. "Thing is, I always regretted not proposing to her before she died. And hiding my past, but—I don't want to make the same mistakes twice."

"So what's your point?"

"Amelia wants to get married and have kids. I know that, and we've kind of discussed it, but…" Sam got back on the ladder and hammered in another nail. "I can't."

"Not ready for it?"

"No, Charlie, I can't. Literally. I'm not only legally dead but I'm wanted by the FBI. Amelia legally can't marry me, since, legally, I'm dead, and even if we managed to pull that off if it pinged the FBI…"

"Gotcha." Charlie handed him more mistletoe. "So you need someone to go in and clean up your records so that you can put a ring on it."

"Yup."

"And you haven't told Amelia this?"

"What am I supposed to say? Hey, hon, I want to marry you because you're pretty much the thing that kept me alive after I lost my brother and my only friend in a huge factory explosion but I can't because, see, about that whole hunting thing…?" Sam gave Charlie a pointed look and she held up her hands.

"Okay. I get it." Charlie grinned slyly. "Does this count as my Christmas present to you?"

"Charlie."

"Okay! Okay. But I expect some heartfelt gratitude. And maybe some kowtowing."

Sam rolled his eyes.

* * *

Dean carefully adjusted Monday's stance. "Elbow up," he reminded her.

Monday did as he instructed. She'd gotten a lot better at shooting, but she was still sloppy in her stance. It was important that Monday be trained as a hunter. Unlike Kevin, who would be staying out of harm's way for the most part, Monday would be joining Cas and Dean as they shut the Gates of Heaven, and who knew what they would run up against.

As Dean went through the motions, he wondered what the hell he could get Cas for Christmas. What did you get an angel? He didn't need clothes, food, or money. He had an entire bunker full of reading material at his disposal, so books were out for the time being. Most movies they could get on Charlie's Netflix account (and Dean fully planned on educating both Cas and Monday), and he had no idea what kind of music Cas liked.

He wanted to get Cas something special. Something—he didn't know. Just something that Cas could hold onto, something that told him that Dean cared about him, that he was always with Cas even if they weren't together physically. Something that said _I'm yours_ and _you're mine_ and _nobody can take this away from us_.

He thought back to the last real 'Christmas' he and Sam had, back when he'd had a year left to live. That was before Hell, before he even knew Cas. And the Christmas celebration before that had been years ago, when they were kids. He'd stolen some stuff from under a tree in a random suburban home, not even thinking to check what it was. He'd ended up giving Sam a doll and a bike accessory. Dad hadn't even bothered to show up. But Sam had given him that amulet—the amulet Dean had worn faithfully around his neck for twenty or so years before…

The idea came to him at the same time Monday fired, landing a bull's-eye. "Hey!" He grinned. "Great job."

Monday reloaded, like he'd taught her. "'Bout time," she muttered.

"Hey. You've never done this before." Dean laid a hand on her shoulder. "These skills take time."

He wasn't going to pull a John Winchester and berate her for not getting everything right the first time or give her the cold shoulder when she missed.

Monday took up the stance again, remembering to keep her elbow up.

"Widen your stance."

He'd given the amulet to Cas in the hopes that it would help the angel find God. And, he might not have admitted it at the time, but it meant something more then that. It was a gesture of their friendship, of their faith in each other. He knew, if he gave that to Cas, that Cas would know everything Dean meant without Dean having to explain a thing.

But he'd dropped the amulet in the trash in a random motel room. It was lost.

Monday hit the target again and grinned up at him. "I did it again!" She said.

"Great."

It wasn't possible—but then, she'd found him and Sam, so maybe?

"Monday."

"Yeah?"

"You found me and Sam, right?"

"Yup."

"How'd you do that?"

Monday shrugged. "Everyone leaves a mark. An impression, so to speak. It's easiest to find the impressions they left on people they interacted with. Next easiest is a place they spent a lot of time in. I basically hopped from one person to another, oldest to most recent."

"Can you do that with an object?"

"It's harder," Monday admitted. "But I think it's possible. I'd need a picture or something." She eyeballed him. "Why are you asking?"

Dean took a deep breath. "I need a favor."

* * *

"Where are you going?" Kevin asked, watching Monday stuff her backpack with spell ingredients.

"None of your business," Dean answered, leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm going to fetch Krissy," Monday replied smoothly.

Dean blinked. "What?"

Kevin frowned. "Who?"

"Krissy Chambers." Monday swung the backpack over her shoulder. "She's a hunter, same age as us. She worked a case with Dean and Sam a year or so back."

"Yeah," Dean said. "She's a good kid."

"Her dad died a few months ago on a hunt," Monday went on. "She doesn't have any other family. I'm going to bring her hear to have Christmas with us."

Dean got a twist in his gut. Krissy was a good kid—quick thinking and tough. She'd have made a good hunter, sure, but he'd always hoped that she'd led a normal life after he'd helped her out with her dad.

It appeared that Fate had other plans.

"Monday here is good at tracking people," Dean said. "So she's going to convince Krissy to come and join us so she won't be alone."

"Oh, okay," Kevin said, accepting the explanation. "You don't mind Adam and I finishing the decorating?"

"Nah, go ahead." Monday grinned. "It'll be a surprise for me when I get back."

"Sure thing."

Dean had to say there was one definite advantage to Kevin, Adam, and Monday all growing up outside of the hunting world. They didn't have the natural suspicion of strangers that hunters did. All three had quickly latched onto each other. Becky had even taken to calling them Team Next Gen. Dean preferred the Three Stooges, personally.

Kevin left the room to inform Adam of the change in plans, and Dean handed Monday a roll of cash and a phone.

"Keep in touch."

Monday nodded. "I'll be back before you can miss me," she told him, winking.

* * *

"Dean."

"Hmm?" Dean didn't look up from the cookie dough he was mixing.

"What is this?"

Dean looked up to see Cas standing in the kitchen doorway, staring up at a small ball of greenery hanging from the top. Dean looked around, made sure nobody was spying on them, and made his way over.

"It's called mistletoe, Cas."

"I know what it is, Dean. Why is it hanging from the doorway?"

Dean grinned, gently tugging on the lapels of Cas's coat so that their noses bumped. "It's a tradition, Cas."

"I don't understand all of these traditions," Cas replied. "Some of them make no sense and very few of them have to do with the birth of the prophet Jesus."

"Well, it's the idea of doing something for years that's comforting to people. It gives them a sense of permanence, of normalcy. And it's nice to celebrate things."

"Then what is the tradition behind this plant?"

"Well," Dean grinned. "If you're caught underneath it with someone else, you have to kiss them."

"Oh." Cas looked up at the mistletoe, then back down at Dean. "It's important to follow the tradition, right?"

"Right."

The kiss was tentative and soft, almost as if it were their first one. Dean let his hands slide down and around so that his arms circled Cas's waist, keeping them pinned together. Cas tasted like peppermint—he _knew_ the sneak had been eating the candy canes—and he brought a hand up to cup the back of Dean's neck, fingers digging into the soft hair there, while the other fisted in Dean's shirt. He coaxed Cas's mouth open with a few swipes of his tongue, feeling more than hearing Cas's answering moan. He was never going to tire of kissing Cas. He was never going to stop getting weak-kneed every time Cas raked his tongue across the roof of his mouth, or stop enjoying the taste of the angel's mouth, or stop feeling dizzy in the best way because oxygen was less important then delving into Cas's mouth over and over again.

Of course, kissing was almost always a precursor, the thing that led to something more. And Dean head never been good in the self-control department, not where sex was concerned. He ended up pushing Cas against the doorframe, one knee between the angel's legs, working on darkening the fading hickey on Cas's neck. He loved the sounds Cas made, small and needy in the back of his throat. Dean had always wondered, back when his thoughts about Cas were guilty little whispers in the back of his mind, if Cas was even capable of feeling things like this—if he was connected enough to his vessel to truly experience things. Now he couldn't help but wonder if Cas's true form could feel these things too. Were his wings trembling and arching? Were his head—or heads—thrown back in pleasure? Was his Grace thrumming like his vessel's blood?

Dean wished he knew, wished he could see. Not that seeing Cas in this human way was bad or anything, but he wanted to see all of Cas. He wanted to grasp every part of who Cas was. Cas could see Dean's very soul. He'd remade Dean after yanking him out of the Pit. It felt unfair, in a way, that Dean couldn't see all of Cas the way Cas could see all of Dean.

"Dean."

Cas yanked him up, grabbing his face with both hands and holding his head in place. "You are distracted."

Dean swallowed. "It's nothing, Cas."

He tried to move into for another kiss but Cas held him still. "What's troubling you?"

And if this wasn't the most embarrassing thing…

"It's nothing," Dean repeated. "Just, uh, Monday can see your true form."

"Yes. It's a part of being a nephilim."

"And I can't." Dean shrugged. "Stupid, I kn—"

Cas kissed him, cutting him off. "You do see me, Dean," he replied. "This body… it was not always mine, I will admit. And it is not the only form that I can take. But it has been mine, and mine alone, for some time now. I find that it suits me, that it is a representation of who I am. And… I find that I prefer it above all others." Cas's eyes were soft. "This is the form that you see me in. This is the form I was in when I learned about humanity and free will. This is the form I learned to feel in, to love in. And that makes it my true form."

Dean wondered, not for the first time, how he got so lucky. He grabbed Cas's hand. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"Bedroom."

Cas smiled and kissed him.

Crouching behind the refrigerator, Charlie snapped a picture.

* * *

Sam entered what Charlie had dubbed the 'entertainment room'. Since organizing the Bunker, Charlie had revamped it with state-of-the-art technology (Sam didn't want to know how she'd obtained it all), newly organized and labeled bookshelves, fully furnished living quarters, workout rooms, and artifact rooms. The place was already safe from pretty much any monster, ghost, demon and angel thanks to things like holy water running through the pipes, salt included in the concrete, and devil's traps carved everywhere, so Charlie hadn't had to worry about that so much as, in her own words, "making it livable again."

At the moment, the technological mastermind was engaged in a fierce battle against Kevin and Adam. Sam knew they were playing a video game of some kind, but that was as far as he knowledge went.

"What are you guys up to?"

"Tournament," Charlie said shortly, focused on the screen.

"Okay then…"

Sam headed for the kitchen. He wanted to ask Charlie if she'd gotten things taken care of yet, but he could tell she was in no mood to deal with anything that wasn't on that TV screen. Christmas was only five days away, and while that was a good thing as far as decorating was concerned (they'd all finished yesterday, including the tree, which Garth had painstakingly decorated with such paranoid care Becky had asked him if he'd rather be married to it instead of her), it was bad news if Sam didn't have the documents in time.

Dean was in the kitchen as usual, pulling a pie out of the oven. "You seen Cas?" He asked Sam.

"Nope. Need help?"

"Nah, I'm good. Just haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon."

"Oh, you mean when I could hear you guys from _down the hall_?"

Dean got a dopey grin on his face. "It's a natural, beautiful thing, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes as he left the kitchen. He made his way down the hall and into his bedroom.

"Cas?"

The angel was kneeling on the ground, bits of metal and some strange ingredients Sam didn't want to decipher scattered around him. He looked up as Sam entered. "It's the one place Dean won't look for me," he said in response to Sam's unasked question.

"Uh-huh." Sam peered at the floor in front of Cas. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't know what to get Dean," Cas said, "And I was growing quite concerned. But yesterday he said—" Cas cut himself off, as if realizing whatever Dean said wasn't something he'd want his brother hearing. "I got an idea of what to do."

Sam crouched down, looking at the object cradled in Cas's hands.

It was made of metal, but what kind of metal Sam couldn't determine. It looked familiar, though.

"Is this… Cas is this made out of an angel blade?"

Cas nodded, staring down at the object. "Yes. Mine." He ran his thumb over it.

The metal from the blade had been molded into the shape of a feather. It looked almost, but not quite, like the feathers of a bird—in fact, it looked like one of Monday's feathers. As the metal caught the light, it reflected various colors in its shiny surface. It wasn't very large, and the small size made sense when Sam saw that it was hanging from a thin necklace chain.

"Why is it glowing?"

Castiel smiled. As he did so, the feather seemed to hum, emitting a familiar white glow. "I infused it with my Grace."

Sam gingerly reached out and touched the feather. He was surprised to find it smooth and warm. "How did you do this?"

"I shaved off some metal from my blade, and melted it down using the heat of my Grace to mold it into this shape. It's held together with my Grace, and as a result the wearer will be able to feel it—and me."

Sam smiled. "I think Dean'll really like it."

"You do?"

Sam nodded. Yeah. Dean was going to freaking love this.

* * *

Krissy Chambers opened the door and frowned at the visitor. "I thought I'd seen the last of you," she told her.

Monday grinned and shrugged. "What can I say? Couldn't keep away."

Krissy rolled her eyes. "Did you not find them?"

"No, I found them all right. In fact, I'm here as their messenger." Monday winked. "We're having a Christmas celebration and you're invited."

Krissy stared at her. "What?"

Monday entered the house and headed up to Krissy's bedroom.

"Pack your bags. Christmas is five days away and I still have to pick up Dean's present for Cas."

"Cas?" Krissy echoed, feeling a little overwhelmed as Monday began rummaging through her drawers for clothes to pack.

"He's Dean's boyfriend. And an angel. And my uncle. It's a long story, I'll tell you in the car."

Clothes began flying about on their own as they folded themselves into one of Krissy's duffel bags. "Um, I haven't even said yes yet."

"Oh c'mon." Monday zipped up the duffel and tossed it to Krissy, who caught it just before it smacked her in the face. "You'd rather spend Christmas alone, or with a bunch of crazy but well-meaning hunters? Besides, we have two cute boys—I'd offer up Charlie as well but she's a little old for you. If you're even into that."

"Um, what?"

Monday was heading back downstairs and out the door. "Wasting daylight!" She called back over her shoulder.

Krissy stared, wondering when she'd become Steve Martin in _Planes, Trains, and Automobiles_.

* * *

Becky carefully finished taping up Garth's present. There. All finished. Now she just had to put them under the tree and relax.

She looked up as Amelia entered the room. "Need help?"

"I just need these put under the tree," Becky told her, smiling. Amelia had been a huge help during these last few weeks, as had Charlie. Garth was eager to help, of course, but there were some things he just didn't understand.

Becky braced herself against the table and started to stand when she felt a strange sensation. It was as if she'd—well, it wasn't very pleasant to think of, but it felt like a heavy period discharge. She would have said it felt like she'd wet her pants, but she didn't feel the pressure or relief that accompanied that. It was just as if she was leaking.

She looked down and saw that the lower half of her dress was wet. "Amelia?" She said, trying to keep her voice even.

Amelia followed Becky's gaze and her eyes widened. "Garth!" She shouted. "Sam!"

"What?"

"What?"

"Get the car! Becky's water just broke!"

"But…" Becky frowned. "But it's too early. It's two weeks too early." She gasped as a vicious cramp shot through her. "Ow," she said weakly.

The next few minutes were a frenzy as Garth got the car started, Sam quickly packed a bag, and Amelia and Charlie helped her out to the car. Adam and Kevin hovered nearby, looking simultaneously curious and horrified with the proceedings.

"Breathe deeply!" Charlie shouted.

"Keep in touch!" Amelia yelled.

"Don't faint, Garth!" Sam cried.

Amelia elbowed him hard in the stomach.

It was only once the chaos died down that Dean poked his head out of his bedroom, hair sticking up every which way. "What was all the yelling about?" He asked. "Did we miss something?"

Sam groaned.

* * *

Krissy watched as Monday carefully drew the symbols in the floor. "And you're certain it'll work?" She asked.

"Nope." Monday finished and brushed off her hands. "But it's worth a try."

Krissy stepped back as Monday stood in the center of the symbols. The witch began chanting quietly, pressing her fingers to her mouth and out to each symbol in turn. This went on for about four minutes until Monday suddenly stopped abruptly.

"But that doesn't make any sense," she muttered.

"What?" Krissy asked.

Monday whipped out her phone and dialed a number, holding the phone up to her ear. "Hey, Sam? Yeah, it's me. Well how many other bisexual runaway nephilim witches do you know?"

There was a pause as Sam—presumably Sam Winchester—spoke.

"What? But she's two weeks early. Uh-huh. Garth's probably having a heart attack. Yeah, listen, back a couple years ago Dean threw away this amulet thing… yup, that one. Did you pick it up? You what? Where? Of course. Give it to him, will you? Oh, and you owe me. I take payment in forms of candy, cookie dough and bacon. Right. See you."

Monday hung up.

"So the thing you were supposed to track down," Krissy said. "Sam had it all along?"

Monday nodded, cleaning up her stuff. "Apparently he picked it up out of the trash and held onto it to give back to Dean or Cas when, quote, the time was right, unquote."

"Which means you basically came out here for nothing."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Monday grinned. "I nabbed you, didn't I?"

Krissy rolled her eyes. "Keep it in your pants, Evans."

"Make me, Chambers."

* * *

Sam hung up the phone with a sigh. Between the likes of Monday and Garth, may the Lord—well, someone, anyway—give him patience. "That was Garth," he told the assembled masses. "He says Becky's still in labor but she's doing okay. He'll let us know as soon as things change. Dean?"

Dean was reading, a book in one hand while he absently ran his fingers through Cas's hair with the other. The angel was seated with his back to Dean's chest in between the hunter's legs, watching the animated version of _The Grinch that Stole Christmas_ with a strange fascination.

"Dean."

His brother looked up, frowning. "What?"

"Come here."

Dean followed him into the room he shared with Amelia. He walked over to the top drawer of his dresser, opening it and pulling out the amulet. "Monday said you were looking for this."

He handed it to Dean, who stared, wide-eyed. "You had it this whole time?"

Sam shrugged, feeling self-conscious. "It meant a lot to me and you, once, but I saw that it came to mean something between you and Cas. And when he left and you dropped it in the trash… I knew you two would find a way to make it better. So I saved it, just in case… I don't know."

Dean took the necklace gingerly, as if it might vanish if he tried to hold on too tightly. "Thanks, Sammy," he breathed.

* * *

"Honey, I'm hoooooooome!" Monday called. "Heeeere's Johnny!"

"Shut the damn door!" Dean shouted up at her.

"Gee, thanks for going to a motel in the middle of fucking nowhere with every intention of rooting through a landfill or a pawnshop, Monday," Monday said, voice dripping with sarcasm as she made her way down the stairs. Krissy, right behind her, looked up and saw someone that Monday, walking with her eyes closed, could not.

"Uh, Monday?"

"You're just the bestest person ever, I really appreciate it," Monday continued. She opened her eyes as she reached the foot of the stairs and froze, looking right up at Dean's face. She smiled. "Uh, hi?"

Dean rolled his eyes and wordlessly handed her a candy cane (which Monday eagerly tore into) before turning to give Krissy a hug.

"We're glad you came," he told her.

"I'm glad to be here," she replied. "With friends."

"Monday!" Adam barreled around the corner. "Thank God. Charlie and Kevin teamed up on Mario Bros and I'm dying." He caught sight of Krissy. "Heeeey…"

"Back off, I called dibs," Monday said firmly, tucking the candy cane into the side of her mouth.

"I do have a say, you know," Krissy informed them as Adam and Monday glared at each other.

"Ah, young love," Dean said sarcastically. "Get out from under my feet, the lot of you."

"Y'know, Monday, you look pretty good sucking on something."

"Adam Milligan—!"

Adam tore out of the room, Monday on his heels.

"Here," Amelia held out her hand to Krissy. "I'm Amelia, Sam's girlfriend. I'll help you get settled in."

As Amelia led Krissy away and Dean went after Adam and Monday, muttering something about _damn kids_ and _too old for this shit_ and _when did I become Bobby_, Charlie sidled up to Sam, one hand behind her back.

"First off," she said, "I am awesome. Second of all, never say I never do anything for you. Third of all," She took her hand out from behind her back and handed him a pile of papers. "Merry Christmas."

Sam looked down at them, smiling. "Thanks, Charlie. You're the best."

Charlie grinned. "Anything for family."

She scampered off, leaving Sam to look through the papers, his smile growing wider.

* * *

"Guys!" Charlie shouted. "Garth just called!"

Amelia ran and Dean ran in from different rooms, Sam looked up from setting put the DVD player, Kevin and Adam jumped up from their game of Slapjack, and Krissy and Monday poked their heads in from the kitchen, where they'd been "helping" Castiel with the cookies.

"And?" Adam demanded.

"He wants you to welcome Linda Rebecca Fitzgerald into the world!" Charlie squealed.

"It's a good thing we all got them baby stuff for Christmas, that's all I can say," Amelia replied.

"We'll go down on the 26th," Sam said. "Say hi and give Garth and Becky a chance to rest."

"We'll have to set up a nursery," Dean added.

"Dean, they can't stay here. They're going to go back to Garth's place."

"Well why not stay here, Sam?"

"Because, Dean—"

"Guys!" Charlie shouted. "Come one. It's Christmas Eve! We can deal with this later! Right now it's movie time!" She held up the DVDs. "Now, do we start with _A Christmas Story_ or _Miracle on 34th Street_?"

* * *

The Bunker was immense and everyone had their own room (save for the couples) but somehow, everyone seemed to decide to camp out in the living room. It probably had something to do with the Christmas movie marathon they had going on. Charlie commandeered the big armchair, draped in her _Winter is Coming_ blanket. Kevin and Adam were lying on the floor on either side of the massive popcorn bowl, with Monday and Krissy doing an admirable job of taking up the couch despite their small frames. Sam was in the other armchair with Amelia curled up in his lap, holding hands.

Castiel stood behind them all, watching the scene. He had done a lot of research and followed Charlie and the others around as they'd decorated the place, but he still didn't understand all of their traditions. But in a way, he felt it didn't matter. Monday had come out of her shell and spent the entire time either hopped up on sugar or giddy with joy at having a real Christmas. Krissy Chambers, a rather intense girl that, Castiel understood, Dean had a parental feeling towards, was able to spend time with people who made her smile instead of being in an empty house all alone. Adam and Kevin, although surely missing their mothers, had souls that pulsed with joy. Charlie was clearly having the time of her life.

Castiel felt warm arms slip around him from behind, and Dean's lips at his ear. "Hey," he murmured. "What are you thinking?"

Castiel leaned back against Dean's solid body, reveling in the ability to touch and savor. A short time ago he'd been convinced he'd never have this. "I was simply marveling at your family."

"Our family, Cas," Dean replied. "You're a part of this too."

Castiel felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards. "Yes, Dean."

Dean chuckled, and Castiel could feel it rumble through the hunter's chest. "C'mere angel. Something I want to give you."

"Dean," Castiel said as Dean led them away. "Presents are traditionally exchanged on Christmas morning."

"I know," Dean replied. "But some families do this thing where they open one present on Christmas Eve." He blushed and looked down at the floor. "I, uh, heard a family talking about it in the grocery store."

"All right," Cas agreed. "But you have to let me give you something."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

Cas felt into his coat pocket. He'd kept Dean's present in there ever since he'd made it, fearful that he would lose it. Sam had been quite worried that he'd used some of his angel blade, but he'd been careful when shaving off the metal. The difference would hardly be felt.

"Close your eyes," Dean told him.

Castiel did as he was told.

He felt Dean step closer, a warm presence in front of him, and then he felt something slipped over his head to fall around his neck. It was a small weight, tugging at his front and hanging in front of his chest. He had only worn it for a short time, but he would never forget that weight. He smiled.

"You know what it is?" Dean asked, sounding breathless.

Castiel nodded.

"So you… you know, what it means, right?"

In answer, Castiel opened his eyes and pulled the necklace out of his pocket, holding it out to Dean. Dean picked it up by the chain, staring at the metallic feather as it glowed softly. "Cas?" He asked, the word stuffed with thousands of questions and wonderment.

"It's made with my angel blade and infused with my Grace," Castiel explained. "That way, you can feel me. My true self."

Dean put the necklace on, his eyes widening as the feather nestled against its chest. He could undoubtedly feel the warmth emanating from it. "Can I," Dean swallowed. "I mean, this'll change based on how you're feeling? Like a mood ring?"

Castiel frowned. "I suppose so. I don't know exactly how it works. Nothing like this has been done before. I simply know that you now wear a part of me." He looked up at Dean, who looked like he had when Castiel had first appeared to him in the barn. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Dean chuckled. "Cas…"

He kissed him, soft and deep. Castiel had always marveled at how for all of his bluster and tough demeanor, Dean was always quite tender when they were alone. He knew that if he said so to anyone Dean wouldn't speak to him for a week, but it amazed him. Dean never ceased to amaze him.

"C'mere," Dean tugged him forward as he walked back toward the bed.

"But, Dean, everyone is—"

"Shh. We'll join them later." Dean kissed the spot just below Castiel's ear. "They're watching _It's a Wonderful Life_ anyway and trust me, you'd just get prissy over the angels and wings thing."

"Saying I'm prissy is not a way to get me to sleep with you, Dean Winchester."

"Uh-huh."

"In fact, I might change my mind about sleeping with you at all."

"Uh-huh." Dean started helping him out of his clothes.

"Maybe I should make you apologize."

"Maybe," Dean agreed, taking his shirt off.

They kissed again, a little more insistently this time, mouths firm against each other as they fell onto the bed, hips seeking contact. Castiel groaned, head falling back as their erections ground together. Churchgoers could call this unholy all they wanted but this, this blessed feeling—it was what he remembered Heaven feeling like, back when God had sat on the Throne and angels still remembered their true purpose. He ran his hands down Dean's back, feeling how the muscles clenched and rippled under the skin, and felt their necklaces clang together as Dean rolled his hips. Castiel could feel his eyes roll back into his head and he thrust eagerly, trying to find that sweet sensation again.

Dean buried his head in Castiel's shoulder, groaning and sucking on the tendon at his neck. He mumbled something but Castiel couldn't understand it, seeing as Dean had a mouthful of skin in his mouth. Fortunately he could guess at the meaning and scrambled for the lube, trying unsuccessfully several times before finally getting a hold of it. Dean plucked it out of his fingers, kissing him and grinning against his lips.

"Perfect, Cas," he whispered. "Fuckin' perfect."

Dean leaned back on his knees, straddling Castiel's hips, and at first Castiel thought Dean would begin prepping him. He closed his eyes, but the cool press of lubed fingers never came, and it wasn't until Dean moaned and his eyes flew open that he understood why.

Dean was prepping _himself_.

Castiel felt his throat grow dry as he watched Dean, chest flushed and head thrown back, work himself open. Dean kept rocking his hips back against his hand, gasping and making choked little noises in the back of his throat, and Castiel thought that on another day when he had more patience, he might come from the sight of that alone.

"Dean—"

Dean withdrew his fingers, wrapping them around Castiel instead. "Yeah?" He asked, grinning cockily. Even like this, Dean knew exactly what he was doing and how to drive Castiel crazy.

"What—" Castiel's question ended on a strangled gasp as Dean sank down onto him, head bowed and body quivering. "_Dean._"

"Wanted to do this," Dean admitted, chest heaving. "But never—never got that far. Hell, never even made out with a guy except the once when I was sixteen, but you—fuck, Cas, you just—everything. Fuckin' exception to everything."

And then Dean started _moving_, and Castiel could only arch his hips up and move in response. Occasionally his eyes fluttered but he was determined to keep them open, determined to watch Dean. Beautiful, perfect Dean.

He couldn't kiss Dean like this, no matter how badly he wanted to, but when he felt Dean's hands running over his chest he grasped at them, interlacing their fingers and squeezing. Dean squeezed back, using the leverage to brace himself and move faster, harder. The feel of it, of being surrounded and gripped by steel and silk at the same time, was unlike anything Castiel had ever felt before and he couldn't keep his eyes open, he couldn't, even though he wanted to see, wanted to catalogue every detail of Dean, Dean fucking himself onto him, Dean above him and around him and _Dean_—

In the times that he had been with Dean since their first 'roll in the hay', as Dean had put it, Castiel had grown accustomed to understanding what an orgasm was, and that it would come, and the general trappings that went with that. But he never got used to the rush in his blood, the singing of his Grace—the pure, joyous feeling, like ambrosia shot straight into his veins, the high that was greater than any drug and just as addicting.

He heard, as if from the other end of a tunnel, a heaving groan just as he was starting to come down from the high. There was a thump and a feeling of weight against and next to him and he opened his eyes to see Dean, bottom half still on Castiel but top half lying on the bed next to him, grinning lazily at him with hazy eyes. The feather against his chest was glowing brightly in response to the honey-thick feeling of pleasure that enveloped Castiel, and he knew that Dean could feel the warmth of it. Dean's eyes fell down to Castiel's chest before flicking back up to his face and he knew that Dean was seeing the amulet dangling from Castiel's neck and was pleased.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean gasped out, chest still heaving. He smiled. "You—you have no idea."

Castiel thought of the sight of Dean above him, of filling and being filled by Dean, of every sense devoted to the look and touch and sound of him, and he smiled in return.

"I think I do."

Dean propped himself up on his elbow and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Shouldn't we rejoin the others?" Castiel asked.

"Mmm. In a minute." Dean smiled. "I'm going to be selfish with you just a little longer."

Luckily, Castiel thought, the selfishness went both ways.

* * *

Sam's alarm woke him up by discretely vibrating from underneath his pillow, as he'd planned. He blinked, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he gazed around him.

Adam and Kevin were both snoring, Kevin with his hand still in the empty popcorn bowl. Charlie was curled in a tight little ball, her red hair a frizzy mess. Monday and Krissy had gravitated towards each other during the night—and, at some point, Monday had taken off her ring—resulting in Krissy sleeping on Monday's left wing as a pillow, hands buried in strange liquid metallic feathers. They had also fallen off the couch at one point… or, actually, seeing that Dean and Cas now occupied the couch, it was more likely that Dean had forcibly relocated them.

Dean himself was sprawled over the couch on his back, propped up slightly by the armrest. Cas was using Dean's chest as a pillow and was sort of on his side, left hand dangling over the side of the couch while his right hand gripped Dean's left shoulder. Dean's arms wound tightly around the angel, his hands slipping underneath the borrowed AC/DC t-shirt Cas was sporting. Sam caught sight of a faint, feather-shaped glow underneath Dean's shirt, and grinned. Looked like they'd exchanged presents early.

Well, he and Dean had a few things in common. Sam was planning the same thing.

Sam looked down at Amelia, snoozing away with her head on his shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart." He nudged her gently.

Amelia blinked, stirring against him. Sam grit his teeth. Her movements were not helping his morning wood. "Mmm? What time is it?"

Sam put his finger to his lips. "C'mere."

He padded over to the tree, crouched down and pulled her present out. Amelia followed him, sitting down and taking the present when he handed it to her. "Open it," he whispered.

Amelia carefully opened the wrapping paper, making as little noise as possible. The wrapping still rustled, but the other occupants of the room remained dead to the world. Finishing, Amelia set aside the wrapping paper and stared down at the pile of papers.

"What is this?" She asked, reading over them.

"I told you about the FBI and the times we've faked our deaths and all," Sam said. "It kind of made it impossible for me to legally do, well, anything. Including get married."

Amelia continued to stare at the papers, so she didn't see Sam's hand go for his pajama pocket.

"But I talked to Charlie and she agreed to make this her Christmas present to us. She took care of everything—wiped all my files, and I think Dean's too—so I'm clean. Which means I can say this…"

Amelia looked up at him then, and he held out the ring.

It was the same ring he'd planned for Jess, all of those years ago. He'd saved up for a year because full-ride scholarship or not he was still a starving college student, and he'd owned it for a month before the woman in white case, figuring he'd give it to her once he got the results back from the LSAT test and she passed her finals, but before graduation.

He remembered seeing the ring in the store and thinking that, no matter who he was marrying, that was the kind of ring he'd want to give his fiancé. It was small, but had a lovely cut, with two smaller diamonds on each side set in a silver band. He'd kept it after Jess's death, partially in remembrance, partially as a sign of hope. He'd never thought of giving it to Ruby—in fact, he'd forgotten about it, until Hallucifer brought it up and he remembered that it was still in the pocket of his duffel. Maybe giving your current girlfriend the ring you were going to propose to your former girlfriend with was a little tacky, but after all that Sam had been through, he figured there were worse things.

Amelia stared at the ring, and then him, and then back to the ring again.

"You know what I'm going to ask," he whispered.

She nodded.

"Please tell me your wanting to talk about marriage was a positive thing a not a dear God let's never do it type thing."

Amelia laughed, clapping her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. "Yes." She nodded. "Yes, it's a very positive thing."

Sam smiled. "Then can I…?"

Amelia's eyes were wet, but she stuck out her hand and let him slip the ring on. Thank god, it fit.

Shit, he hadn't even thought until that second to check on the size.

But then Amelia was flinging her arms around his neck and almost tackling him with the force of her hug, and he forgot all about things like that. She straddled his lap, kissing him until he could hardly think straight.

"Come on," she whispered, yanking him to his feet. "I wanna have some fun with my fiancé."

Sam grinned, slipping his hands down and hauling her up so that her legs wrapped around his waist. "Let's go then," he replied.

As they made their way out of the room, Monday rolled her eyes at Krissy. "And they thought they were so quiet."

Krissy shrugged. "At least they didn't decide to do it in here."

They both glared up at the sleeping Dean and Cas, otherwise known as the Kings of Making Out During the Movie Like Proper Assholes, before snuggling down and going back to sleep.

* * *

Here's the thing.

Sam liked romance.

He liked picking out flowers that had a specific meaning and matched his girlfriend's eyes and giving them to her on a regular Tuesday when she wasn't expecting it. He liked opening the door for her, pulling her chair out for her, and getting the check. He liked making dinner when he knew she'd had a long day at work, fixing the squeaky kitchen door or the broken air conditioner, and going on long walks.

And here's the other thing.

He kind of liked things rough.

Once that sex switch was flipped, it was take no prisoners. He'd never psychoanalyzed it. He just liked things fast and hard and desperate. And he liked girls that pushed his buttons like that. They could be sweet or tough or strong or vulnerable or straight shooting her soft-spoken or any combination, but all of them had the same quality when it came to sex: they matched him hit for hit. They took it and gave it right back—that no holds barred, leave bite marks, fuck like it's the last chance you'll get kind of sex.

And Amelia was no different.

She wrapped her legs around him, arching up against him as he tried to move down the hallway, her tongue moving in and out of his mouth, desperate and hot and making him so fucking hard he couldn't even breathe properly. At one point he nearly tripped and slammed against the wall.

"You want me to do you right here?" He asked. "'Cause I'm not going to last if you keep that up."

"Just get me to the bedroom before everyone gets to hear the good news before they hear the good news," Amelia replied, her nails raking down his back as she tried to take off his shirt.

They finally, _fucking finally_ reached their bedroom. Sam kicked the door closed behind them but didn't bother locking it, far too focused on dumping Amelia onto the bed. The second her back hit the mattress she was rolling him over onto his back, straddling him so she could take her shirt off. She was just wearing a tank top, sleep bra and her cotton sweatpants, thank God, so there wasn't a lot to take off. He'd opted for sweatpants as well, and a t-shirt, instead of the usual layers because, hey, they'd been lazing around the house all evening, and he was never so glad for it as he was in that moment. If Amelia had been wearing one of those bras with a clasp he probably would have ripped it off.

"Come _on_," Amelia begged, trying to get his pants off.

"Hold on." He rolled over so that he was on top, then lifted his hips and kicked off the sweatpants, throwing them to the floor. He reached into the nightstand drawer and got the lube and condom, but Amelia plucked the latter out of his hand and tossed it aside.

"Wha—"

She kissed her way up his neck. "I'm clean, you're clean, and we're going to get married." She smiled against his skin. "I want to feel all of you."

He growled and pushed her back against the bed, opening the lube and quickly coating his fingers, spilling a little in his rush. It certainly didn't help that Amelia wouldn't stop touching him everywhere, driving him nuts and making him go cross-eyed.

She stopped when he got the first finger in her, though, her nails digging into his shoulders as she pushed against him. He liked to tease her, liked to try things, see what made her moan and beg the loudest, but not now. He was way too desperate for that.

And then came the best part. Not that—okay, yes that, but not in the way that most people would think. He loved sex as much as the next guy. He loved the sensation that, for him at least, only a woman could provide. He liked having their bodies press together, slick with sweat, sliding and grinding against each other. He liked kissing until they were dizzy, latching their mouths onto every part of skin they could reach. But most of all he liked the reason behind it, the reason he'd had only two one-night-stands in his entire life (and Madison wasn't even supposed to be a one-night-stand):

He loved the sense of connection.

He loved the idea of being intimately joined with someone, of sharing something with another that he wouldn't share with anyone else. He loved being so entwined that he could almost feel what they felt—their pulse thrumming in time with his, their breaths mingling, feeling as well as hearing their gasps and moans. He loved the idea that they were joining together and becoming one. The idea of sex as an expression of love, a holy rite—that, he loved.

It was why he only tried to have sex with women he loved. He'd loved Jess with a fire that was slow burning and steady. He'd loved Madison, so quickly he could hardly comprehend or control it. He'd loved Ruby, with the love of a Romeo who knows he is going to die. He hadn't loved Cara, and that he regretted. But he could have, possibly, if he hadn't been screwed in the head and able to stick around.

And he loved Amelia. Loved her, loved her, loved her. He poured it into every movement, every touch, every sound.

He loved her, and he was going to marry her.

* * *

Charlie woke up first.

Dean knew this because he was one of the six unfortunates who had to wake up to her screaming, "It's Christmas! Everybody wake up! It's Christmas!"

Cas, the fucker, went from zero to sixty in three point five thanks to being an angel, and went to mojo everyone some coffee. Adam and Kevin both looked like someone had run over them with a truck. Krissy nuzzled further into Monday's wings, muttering _five more minutes_, while Monday looked positively murderous, trying to find the source of the God awful racket.

Everyone quickly joined Charlie in being cheerful once coffee was doled out, and soon they were sorting out the piles of presents.

"Yo, Sam!" Dean shouted over the back of the couch. "Wake up! Christmas!"

Dean stared as his brother entered the room, Amelia at his side. "Dude. You look like a werewolf attacked you."

Sam grinned. "I like to call her Amelia."

Dean choked on his coffee, and then saw the gleam on Amelia's left hand ring finger and grinned. Well then.

"I got presents," Monday whispered, staring at the pile in front of her. She looked up at Dean and grinned. "I got presents!"

He nudged her with his foot. "Open 'em." Krissy, Kevn, Charlie and Adam were already digging into theirs and comparing with gusto.

Monday carefully opened the wrapping paper, peeling off the tape and folding the wrapping before setting it aside, like it was a present all by itself. She gasped as the presents were revealed, and she smiled.

"They're books," she said softly. "They're all books."

Charlie had given her _The Hobbit_, Garth and Becky had gotten her _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, Kevin had purchased Andrew Lang's _Rainbow Fairy Book Collection_, Adam had gotten her the _Harry Potter_ series, Sam and Amelia had given her _The Complete Works of Jane Austen_, and Dean had gotten her Vonnegut.

"Looks like you've got some classics," Dean told her.

Monday ran her fingers over the covers. "I can't read them," she said, her voice heavy.

"You'll learn. Which one do you want to read first?"

Monday debated for a moment, and then picked up _The Hobbit_. Dean grinned and motioned for her to join him on the couch. "C'mere."

Monday climbed up and settled in, curling up with him. He opened the book to the first page. "We'll start from here, okay?"

"Okay."

Monday began slowly sounding the words out. On the floor, Charlie, Krissy, Adam and Kevin compared their various presents, grinning and chattering excitedly. Sam plopped down on the armchair, Amelia joining him, and fielded the phone calls they got from Kate, Sonny and Jody, Missouri, and Garth and Becky wishing them Merry Christmas. And Cas sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, letting his feet tangle with Dean's, watching as Dean helped Monday read.

He might not fully grasp most human traditions, but this… this he understood.


	13. There is No Joy in Mudville

**Monday is captured by Naomi, and Dean and Cas are running out of time to save her.**

* * *

Dean followed the sounds of clashing swords down the stairs into the sparring room. He had to say, he was glad Charlie had taken it upon herself to replace all the creepy industrial lighting in this place. It had given the bunker a real abandoned feel—and Dean knew what he was talking about.

He entered the sparring room to find a sight that, while unusual, had come to be commonplace over the last couple months. Monday, wearing a sports bra and skintight shorts with bare feet and hair tied back, archangel blade aloft, was dueling Cas, who was wearing nothing but skintight shorts (also with bare feet) and wielding his own angel blade. Monday looked kind of ridiculous, seeing how big the archangel blade looked in her small hands and with her short, tiny frame, but Dean didn't laugh—last time he did that she'd hexed him to only be able to speak backwards for three days. Yeah, yeah, sounded like a weird curse, but it was fucking annoying if you were the one dealing with it.

Dean pointedly tried not to look at Cas, which was difficult considering that he'd come down here to talk to him. Dean had learned quickly that the sight of Cas being a badass motherfucker wearing next to nothing was, well, a massive turn-on. Instead Dean kept looking at Monday, who was… actually, getting better.

At least she was holding the blade properly now, anyway.

The two of them whirled, almost like dancers in the grace and poise of their bodies. It was like, and yet unlike, any form of fighting Dean had ever seen. They moved with precision and in ways similar to martial arts practitioners, but there was a primal ferocity that was close to terrifying. They jabbed, thrust, kicked, spun, elbowed and dodged, coming very close to hacking off one of their limbs or slashing across each other's throats several times, but always moving out of the way or blocking the blade in time. Monday could now move as quickly as Cas, but after watching them fight it was clear that Cas was still more controlled and skilled in his movements than Monday.

Dean waited until Cas pinned Monday to the mat, blade pointed at her neck, before clearing his throat. He'd learned the hard way that interrupting an angel battle did not win you points with your boyfriend.

"You need to work on your defense," Cas said, holding out a hand to help Monday up. "You attack too wildly, leaving yourself open."

"You're just sneaky."

"Maybe, but your opponents will be as well."

"Guys?" Dean said, hoping to cut Monday off before she insulted Cas enough that they started sparring again. He jerked his thumb towards the door. "Kevin's located the two crypts that the Men of Letters didn't search."

In a blink, Cas was clean and in his usual outfit. "Let's go," he said, striding towards the door.

"Hello! Some of us have to shower!" Monday called after him.

* * *

"You're going where?" Sam asked as Dean hauled his duffel over his shoulder.

"Utah."

"There's a Mormon joke in there somewhere," Monday quipped.

"Help me with these bags," Dean told her.

"To find some mysterious crypt that Yellow Eyes created?" Sam said. "That doesn't sound suspicious at all. And if the Men of Letters knew about these then why didn't they know about the special children or try to stop him?"

"I don't know Sam, and I kind of don't care." Dean exited the bunker and flung the duffel into the trunk of the Impala. "It's all in the past, anyway. What Cas and I have to deal with right now is Naomi and getting this angel tablet."

"I don't like the idea of you going in blind," Sam replied.

"We're not blind," Dean refuted. "Sure, there may be some Indiana Jones traps or something involved, but we can handle it."

"I don't know of any battle strategy or trap that goes by the name of Indiana Jones," Cas said, approaching the car.

Monday was hovering in the doorway, talking to Krissy about something. Those two were thick as thieves, Dean noticed. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing yet.

"Times' wasting!" He called after her.

Monday rolled her eyes but said goodbye to Krissy and jogged over to join them at the car. "We ready?" She asked.

"Yup." Dean closed the trunk. "Keep an eye on the rabble, Sammy. Don't let 'em drive you too crazy."

"Charlie's got her hands full with establishing the hunter network and has some huge festival she's attending in a few weeks, Garth and Becky are back home with a baby to raise, Kevin's got two trials to decipher, and Adam and Krissy are going to go on some small hunts," Sam said. "I think I'll be fine."

There was the sound of a crash, followed by a very unbelievable _everything's okay! Don't worry! And don't come in the kitchen!_

Sam made a face and Dean laughed. "Yeah. Sounds like you have everything under control."

* * *

"S-sp-spi—no, vowel consonant vowel, so the first vowel says its name. Spi. Spid. Spideeer. Spiders. Spiders!?" Monday looked up. "This thing has giant spiders!"

"Yup," Dean said, glancing at the backseat. Monday was still working her way through _The Hobbit_ and it was pretty slow going, but she was getting better at remembering grammar rules and figuring things out on her own.

There were a few hilarious mistakes, though—like when she'd pronounced 'signal' as 'sigh-nal'.

"Any idea of what we'll find there?" Dean asked Cas, who was sitting in the front passenger seat.

"No, unfortunately. The Host was aware of many aspects of Azazel's plans, thanks to Naomi's network of spies, but we did not know about these crypts."

"Or Naomi did, and she didn't share it with Michael and the others."

"I have always suspected there were many things Naomi did not share with others." Cas's jaw clenched slightly.

"Let's just hope they don't know about the angel tablet, then," Dean said.

* * *

The crypt was underneath a run-down warehouse at the corner of no and where, about five miles off the highway. Dean killed the engine and they stared at the building in front of them.

"You think it's warded against angels?" Dean asked.

"I can't be certain, but it would be best to assume that," Cas replied.

They got out of the car.

"Should I take off my ring?" Monday asked.

"No," Cas answered. "Not unless we have to."

"No point in wasting daylight," Dean said, double-checking that his holy water flask was full. "Let's go."

The warehouse itself was empty, with water dripping from the ceiling and rats scurrying around in the dark. The floorboards had rotted away long ago, making the entrance to the underground crypt easy to find.

"Door in the ground covered in demon symbols, check," Dean noted, pointing his flashlight at it. "Think you can get that?"

Cas gave him a _what do you think_ look and heaved open the door—it was either metal or stone, Dean could tell which, but it was definitely heavy. It revealed a set of stone steps twisting down into the ground. Cas drew out his angel blade.

"I'll go first," Cas told them. Dean knew that tone and decided not to argue.

He turned to Monday. "Stay close."

Monday nodded, and they descended into the darkness.

* * *

The crypt was a bit of a letdown as far as creepy supernatural things went, at least in Dean's opinion. It was an empty, albeit dusty room made of stone. Nothing jumped out at them, nothing tried to kill them—there weren't even any angel repelling sigils on the walls.

"Any idea where this tablet would be?" Dean asked, shining his flashlight around.

"Kevin informed me that the design of the crypts was very simple," Cas answered. "The object they were hiding would be bound inside of the pillar in the center of the room."

He approached said pillar, squinting and inspecting it, fingers lightly brushing the stone. "Whatever is in here," he said, "I doubt it's the tablet."

"Uh… Castiel?" Monday said. Monday continued to call Cas by his full name—probably something to do with the half-angel side, Dean figured.

Dean turned to see Monday turning her head every which-way, eyes wide. "They're coming," she said.

Cas straightened up. "Dean."

Dean realized that by 'they', Monday meant angels. Her nephilim senses were warning her. "Knew you'd come in handy," Dean told her. Monday rolled her eyes at him. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her back so that the three of them were all standing back to back by the pillar. "Can we make a run for it?" He asked.

"Too late," Cas noted.

Six angels fluttered into the room, and Monday audibly swallowed. Dean realized that she could see their true forms—and being surrounded by gigantic, multi-headed, winged creatures of pure power had to be more than a little intimidating.

"Castiel."

It was that Bartholomew creep from earlier. Dean waved. "Heya Bart. Remember me?"

Bartholomew spared Dean a haughty glance before turning back to Cas. "We regret having to take this course of action,"

"Sure you are," Monday said. Dean made a note to get her a chocolate bar for that.

"But you leave us no choice," Bartholomew finished.

The angels drew their blades.

"You so owe me for this," Monday muttered.

Everyone moved at once. Cas clashed with Bartholomew and another angel, taking on both of them at once and managing to back them toward the far wall. Dean drew his own angel blade (technically shared with Sam) and waited until the first angel tried to stab him, dodging and ducking underneath the outstretched arm to stab the angel in the back. The second angel took this opportunity to grab Dean from behind, and Dean had to head-butt the guy to get away. Never a very pleasant move for either party involved, but it got the job done. It didn't hurt the angel, but it was enough of a surprise that Dean was able to twist around and get his blade into its chest.

Two down.

Dean turned just in time to see Monday get stabbed through the stomach.

"Monday!"

There was a rippling in the air, like someone had passed their hand through water, and a second Monday appeared behind the angel, stabbing it through with the archangel blade. The Monday impaled on the angel's blade smirked and vanished, while the second—real—Monday withdrew her blade and turned in time to stab her next attacker upwards through the chin, planting her foot in its chest and pushing back to yank out her blade.

Dean pointed a finger at her. "Don't scare me like that."

"Hello," Monday twirled her finger in a circle in front of her face. "Witch! Grew up on the streets! You really thought I was that idiotic?"

"Excuse me for being concerned."

Cas was still locked in a fierce battle with Bartholomew, the other angel having been dispatched at some point. Monday stiffened and grasped her head.

"More of them," she warned. "Dozens."

"Cas! We gotta get out of here!" They had seconds before more angels would be on site.

Cas cut upwards with his blade, knocking Bartholomew's out of his hand, before bringing the butt of it down to smash into Bartholomew's temple. The angel went down like a sack of cement, but Dean knew he'd be simply knocked out, not dead. Took more than a tap on the head to kill an angel.

"Cas, c'mon, let's go." Dean grabbed Cas's arm and yanked him towards the door. "Zap us outta here."

"Was the tablet here and they got it first, or is it in the other crypt?" Monday asked.

"Option number two, this place hasn't been touched in years," Dean replied. "Get over here."

Monday grabbed Cas's hand, and Dean felt the familiar swooping sensation begin.

But then—

"Castiel!"

There was a scream, and a jolt from Cas, and then Dean felt that strange being-nowhere-but-everywhere sensation, and when he opened his eyes they were back in front of the bunker.

"Cas?"

Cas was staring at his other hand, eyes wide and lips parted. At first Dean didn't understand, and then he realized—Monday. Monday should have been standing right there, holding onto Cas's now empty hand.

"Where is she?"

"They got her." Cas kept staring at his hand, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "They arrived just as we left, and one of them must have been quick enough—they grabbed her."

* * *

They searched for weeks.

Their one advantage was that Naomi couldn't be holding Monday in Heaven—to do that she'd have to kill Monday, and that was too risky. So the nephilim, and those holding her, were somewhere on Earth.

Not that it narrowed the search much.

Charlie spent all of her time with Cas, the two of them combining their knowledge to narrow down the areas of search. When a likely place was found, Dean and Cas would set out, sometimes with Adam or Sam tagging along.

They'd have taken Krissy with them as well, but she wasn't speaking to anyone.

Dean was feeling pretty cut up himself. You'd have thought it got easier, losing people to demons, angels, and plain bad luck, but it didn't. For all Dean was feeling bad, though, Cas was worse. He never said anything, but Dean hadn't spent five and a half years knowing the guy (and a good few months sleeping with him) for nothing. He knew that Cas was blaming himself. Monday was half angel, Cas's niece and the one he was training. Even though there was nothing they could have done, Cas was somehow finding a way to make himself responsible.

"Is there any way should could zap herself out of there?" Dean asked.

"No. Monday cannot travel that way. She can't bend time, or space," Castiel replied.

"Literally her only strengths were slightly enhanced speed and strength, plus the angel and demon sensing ability and her true form," Sam said.

"Yet she has every angel and human weakness?" Dean said. "How the hell is that fair?"

"Doesn't matter if it's fair or not," Sam said. "It's how it is. Nephilim were considered abominations. I suppose all the weaknesses were a way to make them easier to kill."

"Which we did," Castiel added. "All nephilim were hunted down and killed. There haven't been any for thousands of years after the first wave."

"Hopefully this means they won't know what to make of Monday," Sam said.

"She's a tough kid," Dean replied. "And we'll find her. She just needs to hold out until then."

He refused to think of the alternative.

* * *

What all those superhero comics never told you was that healing yourself fucking _hurt_.

It hurts, when you're growing teeth and nails and your cuts are mending all in the span of a few minutes or seconds, depending on how bad the injury is. What would normally take days or weeks of careful regeneration is now sped up, double-time, and it's painful. The times you woke up in the middle of the night during puberty because your bones were growing and your mom said you had 'growing pains'? Or the times your teeth and jaw ached because the braces were moving them a millimeter at a time? Now imagine that intensified, multiplied by ten.

Yeah, Monday really hated being able to self-heal.

It made her torturers a bit more reckless, too. They knew that, short of hacking off a limb, she'd heal from whatever they did to her so long as the initial pain of it didn't kill her. So they cut and dug and ripped and hacked and then left her for hours, slowly, painfully healing.

Didn't even bother with anesthesia.

She had to admit, though—they knew what they were doing. There were times she didn't even feel the needles enter, or almost forgot the metal spikes were embedded in her skull. She had a feeling it was the redheaded one that knew all those little tricks. The others didn't have her finesse.

She was also a right bitch, and Monday wanted to rip her throat out.

All of her life Monday had seen bad people get away with things while good people suffered. She'd tried to make that right—to give people what was coming to them. Sometimes it was in small ways, like making them sick, while other times it was in big ways, like hallucinating or even causing your own demise. Now that sense of justice was boiling away inside of her with no outlet. She wanted to make that redhead pay.

The only thing she could do, restrained as she was, was to keep silent.

They weren't getting any information out of her.

That morning, the redhead was back, this time with two assistants. She didn't always come, and often it was just to observe, but this time she decided Monday was worth a few minutes out of her oh-so-busy schedule.

"Halfling."

It was the nicest thing the redhead had called her.

Monday flexed her hands, feeling the restraints pinning her arms to the chair, and smiled. "Morning sunshine." It still felt weird to hear those words spoken in that strange, deep voice and know it was coming from her own throat. They'd taken off her ring and forced her into her true form before strapping her into the chair she'd called 'home' for the past few weeks. Her talons probably needed trimming.

The redhead made a face, like speaking to Monday was somehow making her dirty.

"As you can see, Commander," one of the angels said, "She's not caving."

Monday wiggled her fingers at him and winked.

The redhead looked Monday up and down slowly. "Yes. Her kind was always stubborn."

She withdrew something from behind her back, and Monday tried not to scream at her. That was her archangel blade, dammit. Taken from her deadbeat dad or no (not to speak ill of the dead, but the guy had only died a few years ago—he couldn't have, you know, helped keep her from starving before then?) that was her birthright, and that bitch had no cause to touch it.

"My men have been quite reasonable with you, Halfling," the redhead said. "And you have refused to be cooperative."

"What can I say? I refuse to bow to The Man." Monday made herself smile, hoping she looked smug instead of close to vomiting.

The redhead looked slightly confused, but pressed on. "I'm going to give you one last chance to answer," she said, walking around to the back of the chair.

Monday had a sudden vision of the nursery rhyme about Little Bunny Foo-Foo, who would hit mice on the head, and how the Good Fairy had given him 'one last chance'.

She decided laughing was probably not the best course of action.

"Where are Castiel and the angel tablet?" The redhead asked.

"Up your ass," Monday replied.

There was a sudden, sharp pain right at the base of her wing—unlike anything she'd ever felt before. It was as if someone had found a way to dig their claws into her very soul and was unraveling it, peeling off the skin of it inch by inch. The blade, Monday realized. She'd been stabbed with her own blade.

The blade went in deeper and she screamed, pain flooding her senses before she blacked out.

* * *

"I found her!" Charlie cried.

They all gathered around the computer. Dean could make no sense of the numbers, letters and dots, but he trusted Charlie. If she said she'd found Monday, then she'd found her. "Where is she?"

"Corporate building in Chicago," Charlie replied. "Only place that fits all of the criteria Cas told me."

"A city. Great." Dean hated cities. More witnesses. "Let's go."

"Won't you need backup?" Sam said, hurrying after them.

"Yeah—you and Amelia set up camp nearby. We'll need her veterinarian skills if Monday's self-healing isn't doing the trick or she needs a bone set. Charlie!" Dean yelled over his shoulder. "Hold down the fort!"

"I'm coming too," Krissy said, running up.

"No, you aren't. You're staying here with Adam, Charlie and Kevin." Dean yanked open the bunker door. Upon seeing Krissy's face, he softened. "Look, you're not going to be thinking straight. We need to be reasonable about this. You're too close."

"And you two aren't?" Krissy replied. "You're practically her parents."

"Just stay here, Krissy. Boys!" Dean called. Adam and Kevin looked up. "Don't let her sneak out!"

Krissy made a noise of outrage, but Dean was already out the door and walking towards the Impala.

* * *

Light…

There was light spilling in from somewhere, lighting up the room…

She lifted her head, or tried to—her head was heavy. So very heavy.

Flexing fingers. Flexing toes. Trying to feel—she was so numb everywhere. Why was she so numb? Why couldn't she feel—couldn't even feel her wings.

She blinked. She could practically hear herself blinking. Her eyelids were so heavy, like they were coated in concrete. Everything was heavy and light, all at once.

She felt—she felt off. Her balance was off. It was odd, because she was still strapped down. In the chair.

She had to get out of the chair.

She flexed her wrists. She wasn't Mr. Incredible by any means but she had just enough enhanced strength that maybe, just maybe—with the adrenaline—

Biting down on her lip to hold in the screams, she wrenched her arms as hard as she could. There. There, that strap gave a little. Again, again!

Spells. Magic. Magic helped—magic had always helped. Magic, her mother's knowledge—that was what had kept her alive all those years on the streets. Think, think, she had to remember.

She chanted, quietly, letting the ancient words weave around her, adding to her strength.

Pushing, straining—she could do this. She could _do_ this. She kept chanting.

With a muffled cry, one hand was free.

Keep chanting, focus on the words—the ancient power. The old ways are harder but the reward is greater. Push, push, just one more time…

Yes!

She pushed up with her hands to stand, knowing her legs would probably be weak and wobbly from disuse and torture. What she didn't expect was the sudden lack of weight at her back. She pitched forward and crashed to the floor.

Now that she was free, her body seemed to divert all of its attention to her back, and she could feel it. Even before her 'puberty' in the motel she'd always felt that weight at her back. She knew now it was her wings, waiting to burst out, but at the time she'd just grown accustomed to always walking with an extra weight at her back. Now that weight was gone. Her back felt strangely empty and naked.

She knew, in the back of her mind, what had happened before she craned her neck to see, but it was still horrifying.

Her wings. The one thing—the _one thing_ she'd liked about being a nephilim: her beautiful, gorgeous wings. They were gone. Instead there were two angry, open, bleeding gashes, one on each side of her spine, running from her shoulder blades down to just above her waist. They were deep, she knew that instinctively. Blood still leaked out from them—the bastards hadn't even bothered closing the wounds.

The wounds… they weren't healing. Why weren't they healing? She had to have been out for a long time. Why wasn't there any sign of new skin or knit muscle?

They'd cut out her wings with her own blade.

Monday curled up on the floor and sobbed.

* * *

Dean watched the numbers tick up on the elevator. "I don't like this," Cas said. "There were far too few guards."

"You saying it's a set up?"

"I think we should be cautious," was all Cas replied with.

They reached the top floor and got out, weapons at the ready. The place was lit but everything was empty. As they made their way through the area, Dean couldn't help but begin to share Cas's concerns. Monday was a pretty high-profile prisoner, and all they'd encountered so far were a few angels on the ground floor. Where the hell was the cavalry?

"Dean."

Dean paused, waiting. Cas had his head cocked, almost like he was listening to something. Dean listened, but couldn't hear anything.

"You don't hear that?" Cas asked.

"I'm human, Cas. I don't have supersonic hearing."

Cas sheathed his blade. "It's Monday."

They hurried down the corridor, because of course she was in the last room at the end of the hall, why break with weird prisoner tradition, and found the door wasn't even locked.

Yeah, that was odd. Dean's survival instincts were on full alert now.

Monday was lying curled up on the floor about four feet away from a chair. The chair was metal of some kind and had two broken straps hanging from it, so Dean assumed she'd been held there and had somehow broken free. Buried into the hardwood floor, like some kind of mocking gesture, was her archangel blade.

"Dean." Cas's voice was charged.

Dean knelt down and shook Monday's shoulder. "Hey, hey."

She blinked and opened her eyes to look up at him. She was in her true form, and so her eyes were featureless gray orbs, but he thought he saw disbelief in their gaze. "Dean?"

Dean grinned. "What, think we'd let you rot? C'mere."

"Dean, be careful. Her back."

Dean looked and saw them. They'd taken off Monday's shirt, or it had ripped to pieces at some point, so that she was just wearing her bra. Made sense when you wanted to torture someone and get to as much skin as possible—especially when that someone had wings.

Had, being past tense.

Where Monday's wings had been there were now two deep, vicious gashes that ran up the length of her back.

"They aren't healing," he noted. "Cas?"

"Her wings were a part of her angel side," Cas said. "I suspect, being so closely connected to her soul, that these wounds are incapable of the self-healing that her purely physical wounds are."

"You mean that in cutting out her wings they cut her _soul_?" Dean felt a little sick. That was the kind of stuff you did in Hell—not something angels, agents of Heaven, were supposed to do.

"We need to get her to Amelia immediately," Cas said.

Dean slipped his arms underneath Monday. "All right. Hold onto me."

"No," Monday whimpered, even as her arms went around his neck. "You can't. You have to go."

"We are going. We're just taking you with us." He held her so that her head rested on his shoulder and her body was cradled against his chest, his hands holding her at her butt and shoulder so that he wasn't touching the wounds.

"No," Monday repeated. "It's a trap. Dean, it's a trap. She said—she always said."

"Who?"

"The redhead. She cut out my wings. My wings were so pretty. So… very… pretty…" Monday's head lolled and she blinked. "My ring. Where's my ring? Took it—my mom's ring…"

"Here." Cas handed it to her. An angel they'd killed on the ground floor had been wearing it. Dean slipped it onto Monday's finger and her claws slowly retreated into her fingers. Her voice returned to normal, and her eyes had pupils and blue irises again.

The wounds on her back remained.

"Can you zap us out?" Dean asked.

"No. It's warded against such things. Only way out is through the lobby."

"They'll be waiting for us there," Dean replied. "Is there a service entrance?"

"Yes. Charlie showed it to me in the blueprints."

"Then let's go."

They made their way as quickly and quietly as they could, which was easier said then done when Dean was carrying a fully-grown young woman who was bleeding and kept moaning about how it was a trap. Dean carried her archangel blade at his hip—hey, extra weapon, and it was Monday's—but he wouldn't be much help in a fight. If they ran into trouble, it would all be on Cas.

"This way," Cas directed them, veering for the stairs instead of the elevator. Dean heard the elevator _ding_ just as the door to the stairs closed behind him, and he wondered how long it would take the angels to realize the route their quarry had taken.

"This is gonna jolt you a little," he warned Monday. As he hurried down the stairs, right behind Cas, Monday was jostled from side to side in his arms. She dug her nails into the skin at the back of his neck, and Dean was glad she'd put the ring on and he didn't have to deal with full-blown claws—and two extra fingers on each hand to boot. Monday's body started shaking uncontrollably at level four, her body going into shock from the trauma and blood loss.

"Is Sam waiting with the car?" Cas asked.

"He better be."

"Good." Cas stopped and waved Dean ahead of him. "Keep going."

"Cas?"

"She's going to die if we don't hurry," Cas replied. "Go."

"But what are you—"

"This is a trap for me." Cas's eyes were blazing. "I would stake my Grace on the bet that Naomi has been interrogating Monday about myself and possibly the angel tablet. If I distract them, you can get Monday to Sam and Amelia."

"No." Dean was not letting Cas take on all of these dickheads alone. "I'm not leaving you here."

"I'll be fine. I'll get back to the bunker as soon as I get out of the building."

"I'm not letting you—"

"Go, Dean."

"Cas!"

Cas was already moving back up the stairs, towards the oncoming angels. Dean cursed and looked down at Monday, shaking and bleeding in his arms. He couldn't help Cas with his arms full like this, and Monday would die if they didn't get her medical attention.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed. "I'm coming back for you!" He yelled up at Cas. "C'mon," he whispered at Monday.

He tore down the last few flights of stairs and out the service entrance. The Impala was waiting across the street and revved its engine as he exited, pulling up at his feet. Sam rolled down the window.

"What—"

"Take her!" Dean yelled, opening the back door and setting Monday down. Amelia was in the backseat, and she openly gaped at Monday's condition.

"They cut out her wings—all the way down to the root, I think. Take care of her."

Amelia pulled Monday to her and began working on her.

"Where's Cas?" Sam asked.

"Still inside. I'm going back for him."

Dean turned to go back inside when he felt the necklace at his chest heat up. He gasped, yanking it away from his skin and holding it out. The feather was glowing so brightly that it was blinding, and it was burning hot to the touch. Dean ran as fast as he could back into the building, ignoring Sam's shout, and yanked open the door.

"Cas!"

He ran all the way up the stairwell, but there was no sign of Cas. There were a few bodies of other angels, sure, but none of them were Cas.

"Cas!"

The feather suddenly felt cold—like metal that had been stuck in a freezer. Even at its lowest, it had never felt like that. There had always been some kind of warmth and glow coming from it. Now, it was dark and cold, like any regular piece of metal. If he didn't know better, he'd say it wasn't infused with Cas's Grace at all.

Cas was gone.

* * *

Her eyelids felt heavy again.

Her whole body felt heavy, actually. But at least now she could think in coherent sentences, which was more than she could say for the last time she'd woken up. What had happened last time? She remembered pain—so much pain. And light, and someone holding her. Dean. Dean had held her, carried her—why?

She felt an emptiness at her back as well as a dull pain, and she remembered.

Her wings. They had cut out her wings.

"You're awake."

Monday blinked, letting things come into focus. She was on her bed, in her room at the bunker. A large hand pushed her hair out of her face, and she felt something soft and cool dab at her forehead.

"You've had a bit of a fever. Amelia was worried you'd gotten infected."

The voice was low and deep, and very familiar. Raising her eyes took effort, but she managed it.

Dean smiled down at her. "Hey."

Monday tried replying, but her voice didn't work. She cleared it and tried again. "Hey." It felt strange and scratchy.

"Here. Drink some water."

Dean helped her sit up, propped against some pillows, and handed her a glass. The water was cool and felt wonderful going down her throat.

"You okay? You're not dizzy or anything?"

Monday shook her head. There was the dull pain at her back, and a slight itching too—probably stitches—but that was it.

"How bad is it?" She asked.

Dean winced. "Uh… let's just say Amelia could dip her finger into the wound all the way up to her furthest knuckle."

Monday nearly gagged at the image that presented. Dean chuckled. "Yeah, that's the face Sam made. Amelia stitched you all up, though. You had a lot of blood loss and went into shock, but Charlie and Adam were able to sneak into a hospital and get us the supplies we needed."

"How long have I been out?"

"About three days. Amelia was worried about infection because of the fever, like I said, but she was pretty sure the sleeping was your body resting up. You'd been through the wringer the past few weeks."

"How long, exactly?" Monday asked. She'd lost track of time while the angels had her.

"About three weeks, give or take."

Monday finished off the water and Dean took the glass from her. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"For getting captured. For not escaping."

Dean's face grew stern. "None of that. It wasn't your fault. And trust me, there are a lot worse things you could've done."

"I didn't talk, though. She kept asking me about Castiel—and about the tablet too, where it was—but I didn't tell her anything." She paused, trying to keep her voice steady. "That's why she took my wings."

"Yeah. We figured." Dean's eyes were dark and sad. "I'm sorry about that. I know you loved them."

"They were the only thing about being me—being a nephilim, anyway—that I liked," Monday admitted. "I mean, look at me." She gestured to herself. "I have all of the weaknesses and none of the strengths, unless being able to hold your own with Sam in a boxing match counts. I look like the Beast from _Beauty and the Beast_ before he's cured of the enchantment, and now I've got two nasty scars running down my back."

Dean made a face. "They're not that bad. And chicks dig scars."

Monday laughed, but it felt empty and forced. "Sure they do." She paused, a thought occurring to her. "Why didn't they heal? The wounds from the wings, I mean. I always heal. It takes a bit and sometimes it heals a little wonky but it heals. Always."

Dean sighed. "Cas said it had to do with your soul and being half-angel. Your wings were I guess connected to your soul somehow, being a part of your true form and connected to whatever angel mojo runs in your blood. I think the same would've happened if Naomi had yanked out your claws or something."

"Naomi. She was the redheaded one?"

"Yeah."

Monday looked around. "Where's everyone else?"

"Charlie had to head out—she's in charge of some festival or something and she couldn't delay. She said to give you a hug, though. Adam and Kevin are out getting more medical supplies for the future, you know, just in case. We made Krissy take a nap, since she wouldn't stop hovering over you, and Amelia's resting up too—she hasn't slept since we got you back, been waiting until you were in the clear. Sam's probably cooking something for her to eat. Says he owes her a home-cooked meal or something."

"And Castiel? Where's he?"

Dean swallowed hard, and he looked down at his knees. "He's, uh…"

She knew what had happened. "They got him."

Dean must have heard something in her voice, because his head shot up. "Don't blame yourself. It was our decision to go after you. We knew the risks."

"I said!" Monday replied. "I said it was a trap! And you didn't listen!"

"We knew what we were getting into, Monday. Cas was a warrior in Heaven, he fought Lucifer's army—he knew what the risks were."

"You shouldn't—" Monday tried steadying her breathing. She hadn't cried in years, not since she'd burned her hands in the holy fire. Sobbing after the shock of her wings didn't count, that was trauma. "You should've left me."

"They'd have killed you."

"But I wasn't going to talk! They wouldn't have learned anything! Castiel is what she wanted Dean, not me—Castiel! And now she has him and God knows what she's going to do to him!" The tears were leaking out now and she couldn't stop them no matter how she tried. Castiel was her family. He'd been a bit gruff but he'd cared about her. He'd walked right into a trap to save her. And now…

"Hey, hey. Don't play that game." Dean took both of her hands into one of his and used the other to cup her chin and force her to look at him. "Did I ever tell you how Cas and I met?"

Monday shook her head.

"Back—Jesus, almost six years ago now—Sam… Sam was targeted by a demon: Yellow Eyes, the guy who made those crypts. He set Sam and a bunch of other guys up to kill each other, made them go Hunger Games. Sam refused to play, said he wasn't going to kill anyone. So he was killed instead.

"I tried, but nothing could bring him back. So I went to the nearest crossroads."

"You made a deal," Monday breathed.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I made a deal. Normally they give you ten years but I'd ganked a lot of demons in my time and I was high on Hell's Most Wanted list, so I only got one. Sam did his best to get me out of it but one year later, I got sent to Hell."

Monday could feel her eyes go wide. It was like something out of the myths her mother had told her. "What happened?"

"I was down there for four months earth time, forty years Hell time. Time's weird down there. I guess the deeper down into the Pit you go, the slower time moves compared to up here. I was down pretty deep—not as deep as Lucifer's Cage, but pretty far down.

"Thing is, when you, uh, when you're in Hell, they do stuff to you, right? They torture you all kinds of ways. But every day you get the chance to get off the rack. All you gotta do is agree to turn the knife onto someone else."

Monday could hear the pain laced in every word, and knew all the way down to her soul that no matter what she'd just gone through with Naomi, it was nothing compared to what Dean had gone through in Hell.

"For thirty years, I told them where to shove it. But eventually—I broke." Dean tried to smile and failed, the expression coming out as a pained grimace. "I'm not proud of it, but it's what happened. I broke, and I started torturing people.

"I guess that was the sign Heaven was waiting for, because they sent Cas in to get me out. Ten years I'd been torturing souls and I was more demon than human by that point. That's how they make demons—they strip you of everything that makes you human, and then they remake you, make you love the pain and the smoke and the blood. I wasn't worth saving at that point, but you know Cas—stubborn as a fuckin' mule."

Dean looked up, right into Monday's eyes. "At first I didn't remember this. I only remembered Hell and the pain. But after we got together, Cas unlocked the last memories. The memories of him saving me. Said he didn't want to do it before in case it changed the way I felt about him." Dean chuckled. "Man, I wish I could show you that one part. He cut his way through hundreds, thousands of demons. Scared the living shit out of them. Yanked me right outta there. He had to get through about seven levels of Hell to reach me, fighting all the way, and then he had to fight his way out while holding onto me—and I didn't want to go with him. I was scratching and clawing at him the whole way.

"So don't go blaming yourself. Cas knew exactly what he was doing, going after you, and so did I. He's a warrior, a fact he shoved in my face plenty of times back when we didn't get along so well. Trust me, he was as prepared as we could have been."

Monday nodded, feeling the guilt abate a little. "But we'll get him back, right? Like you got me?"

"We'll try." Dean's voice was heavy. "But you aren't going anywhere for a while. You still have to rest up."

There was the sound of arguing, and a scuffle. Dean grinned. "I think I know who that is." He stood up. "I'm going to help Sam in the kitchen. 'Scuse me Krissy."

Dean skirted around Krissy, who had evidently fought off Sam or Amelia (or maybe both) and was now standing in the doorway, looking at Monday with wide, dark eyes.

Monday grinned, even though she didn't feel like it, and winked. "Miss me, Chambers?"

Krissy was across the room in seconds, hugging the life out of her. "Don't you ever be that stupid again, Evans," she whispered.

Monday hugged her back. "No promises."

Krissy just buried her face into Monday's neck and held on tighter.

* * *

Dean found Sam in the kitchen, a still-exhausted Amelia sitting at the table and sipping some tea. "You holding up?" He asked her.

Amelia gave him the thumbs up. "Just need to catch up on my sleep."

"And eat," Sam added, setting a plate of food in front of her. "I want every bite gone."

"Yes, sir," Amelia teased.

Sam shot a look at Dean. "Is she okay?"

"Monday? Yeah, she's fine." Dean leaned against the counter. "Not too happy about the wings and all, but she's tough. She'll recover."

"Like you did?" Sam said, his voice pointed.

"That's what I'm here for," Dean replied. "So she'll have someone to talk to."

"Did you tell her about Cas?"

"I had to. She asked about him."

"What'd she say?"

"Felt guilty, of course. I explained we knew what we were getting into." Dean paused, his fingers reaching for the necklace he still wore. "She wants to know if we're going to get him back."

"What did you tell her?"

"I didn't let her worry."

"Dean." Sam had his self-righteous face on. "She has to know the truth."

"What did you want me to say? He's an angel so Naomi took him to Heaven where we couldn't reach him even if we did kill ourselves?" Dean realized he was shouting and lowered his voice. "I just got her to stop feeling guilty, Sam. If she learns we can't find Cas let alone save him—"

"She has to know the truth at some point."

"And she will. Let her recover first."

Dean's fingers found the feather. It was cold, just as it had been every day since Cas had disappeared.

"Besides, we will get him back. I don't know how yet, but we will."

He clutched the feather, the edges of it biting into his skin.

They'd get Cas back.

They had to.

* * *

**The time between the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next one is the equivalent of the summer hiatus.**


	14. Child of the Corn

**Child of the Corn: A routine hunt becomes a rite of passage when Sam and Dean are forced to let Monday tackle an evil god on her own.**

* * *

The Impala roared down the highway, away from the LARP festival that Charlie had hosted—and, coincidentally, away from misplaced fairy queens as well.

Long story short, Dean had just had a pretty fun weekend fighting fake battles, Charlie had just gotten it on with the Queen of the Fairies and had been whisked away to Fairyland (which Sam said was good as it would improve human-fairy relations and take yet another enemy off the To Hunt list), and Dean had, in the process, been made Charlie's handmaiden.

It was a lot cooler then it sounded, trust him.

Anyway, it was now sunset and all three of them were beat—the three of them being Sam, Monday, and Dean. It was late September, and Kevin was at college still trying to decipher the rest of the demon tablet without letting it kill him, while Adam had to finish up his doctorate exams. Krissy was, upon Dean's insistence, scouting out colleges as well and getting her GED. Dean would have made Monday do the same but up until a month ago Monday was still having trouble walking, and he figured someone who had just learned how to read was not ready for college just yet. Amelia had wanted to visit Becky and Garth to check up on them, and Jody had then roped Amelia into visiting her and Sonny and giving the monster kids checkups since they couldn't go to a regular doctor, and that had led to a wedding-planning session that Sam was pointedly _not _invited to after he'd thrown his hands up and said he didn't see what was wrong with just going to the town hall and then booking it for Hawaii. Charlie had invited Sam the LARP festival as a consolation prize, and Dean had decided to tag along. Nobody in their right mind left Monday alone among ancient artifacts unless they wanted the bunker blown up—which had nearly happened twice thanks to her curiosity—and so he'd taken her along with them. They were now headed back to the bunker and would hopefully be there by next morning if Dean kept driving.

This was looking less and less likely, as he was struggling to keep his eyes open and he was on his third cup of coffee.

"I can drive," Monday piped up from the backseat.

"Over my dead body," Dean informed her.

"You said that to me and it happened twice," Sam pointed out.

"The second time I technically wasn't dead. I was in Purgatory," Dean argued. "And Monday, you don't even know how to drive."

"You could teach me."

"Using one of the cars in the bunker's garage, sure. Using my baby, no."

He knew, even if he couldn't see it, that Monday was rolling her eyes.

"Hey," Sam said, pointing. "What's that up ahead?"

"Looks like some kind of fair."

Sure enough, there was a large sign advertising a county fair, complete with a Ferris wheel, farm-related competitions, midway and Halloween-themed section, which included the "Biggest and Best Corn Maze in the U.S.A.!"

"Want to stop and stretch our legs?" Sam asked. "You could even nap in the car while Monday and I take a look."

Dean wasn't so sure. Neither he nor Sam had good experiences with things like this—the clown rakshasa being the first example to come to mind—but he caught sight of Monday's hopeful face in the mirror and sighed. "All right. I'll catch forty winks and you guys go on the Tilt-A-Whirl."

Monday bounced in her seat like a five year old. Normally Dean would have found it annoying, but seeing as Monday's childhood had kind of been snatched away from her, he'd found himself glad that he could, in some ways, give it back to her. "Can I get cotton candy? And candied apples? And one of those giant cupcakes? And taffy? And an ice cream cone? And—"

"Yes, you can get your sugar fix." Dean figured it was only by the grace of her half-angel side that Monday wasn't overweight yet. That girl ate candy like some people chain-smoked. That and bacon, but Dean couldn't blame her on that one.

Dean pulled off the highway and followed the signs, pulling into the dirt parking lot and picking a spot.

"Keep in touch," he warned Sam. "If I don't hear from you in an hour I'm coming after you."

Sam snorted. "You'll probably be too knocked out."

Dean made to retort, but Sam was already out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

"Bye Dean!" Monday called, zooming out of her seat and dashing after Sam.

"You got your protection?" Dean called after her.

Monday turned, walking backwards, and patted her thigh. Her archangel blade was strapped to her leg underneath her jeans. "Yup!"

"That sounds very wrong, Dean," Sam called out.

Dean just grinned and kicked back the front seat, stretching out. Time for a well-earned nap.

* * *

Monday threw the ball, knocking the milk bottle over. "Ha!" She crowed, pointing. "I win!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You've got extra juice."

"I'm actually only as strong as you are, remember?" Monday was, indeed, only as strong as Sam. That was abnormally strong for someone of her size, but nothing of comic book proportions. "You're just lazy."

"Hey, I beat you in the ring toss," Sam reminded her.

"Whatever. You owe me one of those massive lollipops."

"You've already eaten two things of cotton candy, a three-scoop ice cream cone, and a fried Twinkie."

"That last one was not worth it. And you had ice cream too. And a turkey leg."

"Fine." Sam walked over to the stand and got Monday a large rainbow lollipop, which she took eagerly and began sucking on happily. "How do you even hold that much?"

"High metabolism," Monday replied. Sam raised his eyebrows. "No, really. Ask Amelia. My angel side means I burn through energy really quickly."

"Sure." Sam gazed down the Midway. "Anything else you want to try?"

"Can we check out the Halloween section?"

"As long as we avoid any clowns."

Monday rolled her eyes. "You're six foot four. Your biceps ripple when you pick up a duffel bag. You have a six, if not an eight, pack. You face down monsters and demons on the daily. You have literally been to the deepest pit of Hell. And you're scared of _clowns_?"

"Says the girl who's scared of spiders."

"Blame Tolkien!"

They reached the Halloween section, which was guarded by a man dressed as the Crypt Keeper. He nodded at them as they entered, probably checking to make sure no little kids slipped in.

Monday continued to suck on her lollipop as they window-shopped the various vendors and went through the Hall of Mirrors. Sam was just thinking maybe they could head back and check on Dean, when Monday pointed. "Look!"

It was the Corn Maze.

"Can we go in?" Monday asked, grinning. She held up her lollipop stick. "I finished."

Sam shook his head. Putting him in a dark maze with things jumping out from nowhere? Yeah. Bad combination. He'd probably end up breaking some poor guy's nose when his hunting instincts kicked in. "You go on in. I'll stay out here and call Dean, let him know what's up."

Monday nodded. "Okay."

She hurried off to enter the maze, and Sam pulled out his phone. Just as he was about to dial Dean's number, it rang, the name _Amelia_ lighting up the screen. He grinned and answered.

"Hey, sweetheart." He made his way over to a nearby bench to sit down. "How's everything going?"

* * *

Monday waited patiently in line. She'd never been to a fair like this before, and she'd always loved Halloween. Her mother had celebrated it by paying reverence to the spirits of departed ancestors and the spirits of nature, as well as various minor gods. "The curtain between the worlds is thin now," she would say, holding Monday in her lap. "And we must be respectful of them if we want them to be respectful of us."

Her mother had also handed out candy to dressed-up children, however, so she figured her mother didn't mind the more secular part of the holiday.

Besides, putting on costumes and scaring people was hilarious. Monday grinned. Halloween was when pranks of every shape and size were welcomed, including the, ahem, darker ones. She couldn't wait to see what the people in charge of the corn maze had dreamed up.

"That was weird," one teenage boy said to his friends as he exited the maze. "There were barely any people jumping out at you."

"Yeah, but the guy at the end was terrifying," another boy said. "Fantastic finale."

Monday frowned, listening to them as they passed. Maybe they were short staffed that night?

Finally it was her turn, and the vendor (dressed like a ghostly ringmaster) let her inside of the maze.

At first all was dark and silent. Her natural instincts went on high alert, years of living alone and vulnerable out on the streets refusing to go away even though she knew she was in no danger. When a fork in the road presented itself, she carefully considered her options. She looked up at the moon. The exit had been about a hundred feet to the left of the entrance, so the proper path through the maze, theoretically, looped around in a horseshoe shape. The maze builders wouldn't have done a cop out and made a straight line the proper way. To escape, the maze runners would have to go away from the exit, which went against their instincts.

Monday took the right-hand path.

She kept walking down the dark path, following its twists and turns, frowning to herself. Surely somebody would have jumped out at her by now. She'd seen a few props along the way—an abandoned wishing well, a pumpkin patch—but no actual people. The only sound was the soft _shuh-shuh_ of the corn stalks as the breeze stirred them, and the only person around was herself.

Odd.

Instinct pricked at her, and Monday drew her archangel blade. She hadn't learned anything new since Cas's disappearance, not without him there to teach her, but she'd perfected the moves he had already taught her, using Dean as her sparring partner. She twirled the long blade in her hand expertly, the handle feeling smooth and comfortable in her grasp. She was much more capable in her fighting skills now. Sure, she liked pulling the fake-Monday trick (heh heh) but she didn't have to rely on it to get kills anymore. She could hold her own.

The path took a sharp left and Monday found herself facing a small, abandoned barn—or what looked like one, anyway. She could tell that the "old and worn" wood had been painted to look that way and it was actually much smaller than any actual working barn would be. Another prop, then, and probably one with someone waiting inside to scare her.

Monday made to enter when she heard footsteps—quick, small footsteps. She turned, blade held up and ready.

"Help!"

Two small bodies barreled out of the corn, latching onto her waist and holding on tight. "What the—?"

It was two girls, no more than twelve. One was African-American, with her hair softened and tied back. She was dressed like Princess Tiana from _The Princess and the Frog_. The other was Caucasian, with light brown hair and freckles, dressed like Rapunzel from _Tangled_.

"Are you two okay?" Monday asked, trying to check for wounds. It was a little hard to do when they were clinging to her like leeches.

"We went in," one of the girls blubbered. "And we got lost in the maze and we were all alone."

"And he came after us!"

"He?"

"The scarecrow man."

Monday looked up and around, trying to see if anyone else was there. She had a sudden creeping suspicion—something her mother had told her. "Okay. C'mere." She grabbed the girls and slowly backed into the fake barn, bending down and drawing some protection symbols in the dirt of the doorway. "We'll be safe in here."

She drew them into the darkness of the small building, trying to remember what her mother had told her about spirits. There were many kinds of gods in the world, and about half of them were from the pantheons that people recognized—Odin and Poseidon and Kali and the rest. But the other half were almost like spirits—the naiads and dyads of Greek myth, for example, who were god-spirits that guarded water and plants. They could be worshipped like gods, and had supernatural power, but they were restricted in their abilities.

Someone jumped out at them at the girls screamed. Monday brought up her blade again, and the person reared back.

"Whoa, whoa!" The guy took off his Jason mask, revealing himself to be a teenager about Monday's age. "You guys take these mazes way too seriously."

"How long have you been in here?" Monday asked.

"Since my shift started earlier this evening, about five hours ago. I'm supposed to be relieved by my replacement in about twenty minutes."

"And you haven't left this building the entire time?"

"No. I stay in here and follow people around, make them jump, stuff like that until they find the door. It's pitch-black so they have to feel their way out, but my mask has night-vision contacts so I can see them."

"Have you seen or spoken to any of your coworkers?"

"No. I'm in here alone. Lewis is the guy they run into before me—he makes sure that I don't get swamped with people. Did he scare you too much?"

"I haven't run into Lewis. Or anyone, for that matter, until these girls glommed onto me." Monday indicated the two shivering girls, who were still clutching at her. "I think something's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you noticed anything odd tonight?"

The teen frowned. "Y'know… starting a couple hours ago, people started making comments about how I was the first worker they'd seen or whatever."

Monday nodded. "Okay. You need to stay here."

"No, wait—what are you saying? What's going on out there?"

She needed to think. She needed to remember. "Just stay here, okay? Clearly you're safe in here if it hasn't gotten you yet, and I put some protection symbols at the door just in case."

"It? What is 'it'?"

"Just stay here, okay? Look after the girls."

"I want to know what's going on. Look, the guys—they probably took a break or something. Or you missed them." The teen marched for the door.

"Don't!" Monday tried to reach him but the younger girls were still holding onto her, stopping her from moving quickly. She disentangled herself, prying their hands off of her. "Stay inside!"

"Look, I'm sorry you scare so easy, but it's fine. C'mon. I'll lead you out of the maze if you want." The teen was only a foot from the door. Monday ran for it.

The teen stepped outside and waved for her to join him. "It's okay, see?"

For half a second, the teen stood there in his black robes, Jason Voorhees mask in hand, beckoning encouragingly. And then something, a cross between a gust of wind and a monstrous shape, swooped out of nowhere. The two young girls screamed, there was a roar, and then both the teen and the thing that took him were gone.

But Monday had seen enough. That one glimpse had jogged her memory. An emaciated leathery face, two empty eye sockets, no mouth.

"Vanir," she whispered.

* * *

Dean was startled awake by the sound of his phone ringing. "Hello?"

"Hey." It was Sam. "You good?"

"Yeah. Just napping. How're you guys?"

"Fine. Just had a chat with Amelia. Monday's in the corn maze."

"Nice."

"Yeah. I figure we'll head back after this."

"Actually, I'm kind of hungry. Mind if I join you while you wait?"

"No problem. Hey…"

"What?" Dean started getting out of the car.

"Dean." Sam's voice had an edge to it. "You're going to want to bring some stuff with you."

"What kind of stuff?" Dean frowned. "Sam, what's going on?"

"A teenage girl just ran out of the corn maze. Dean, she's covered in blood."

* * *

"What's a Vanir?" One of the girls asked.

"They're a spirit-god," Monday explained as she fished in her pockets. She should have enough ingredients on her for this… "They're in charge of things like protecting land and promoting health and fertility."

"But—but gods don't exist," the other girl said.

"Honey, there's an animated scarecrow thing after you. Just roll with it." Ah-ha! She did have enough! Monday pulled out the leather she used for making hex bags and started adding ingredients. And Dean had told her to stop carrying so much stuff in her pockets. Ha. "The Vanir belong to one part of the Norse mythology. Freyja, Freyr, and Njord were in charge of the Vanir. Odin, or Woden or Wotan, as he was sometimes called, was in charge of the Aesir. They had a lot of conflict but sometimes intermarried. Lots of crazy mythology stories. Anyway, sometimes when Northern Europeans moved to the U.S. they brought their Vanir and Aesir gods with them, tied to things like a sacred tree or stone or effigy. Now, most Vanir and Aesir just need crops or a lamb or something from their worshippers to ensure their continued protection."

Monday finished the hex bags and pulled out her marker, writing the proper symbols on them. Luckily this spell only needed a couple of ingredients. "There we go. Now, sometimes these spirit-gods, they need a human sacrifice. They're very specific, one male and one female, at the right time of year, blah blah blah." She stood up and went back over to the girls, handing them each a hex bag. "It takes a lot for one of these things to go on a rampage. I'm guessing somebody violated their sacred spot, which is a big no-no."

"What are these?" One of the girls asked, holding up the hex bag.

"It'll make you invisible as long as you hold onto it." Monday took off the all-purpose safety hex bag she wore—the same one she'd given to Sam—and looped it around the girl's wrists, binding them together with the hex bag hanging from it. "This'll keep you from losing track of each other, and it'll keep you safe. Now, I need you to listen very carefully, okay?"

The girls nodded.

"I need you to run out of the maze as fast as you can. Be as quiet as possible. Don't make any noise or scream. You're safe with the hex bag I just tied you together with, and the ones you're holding make you invisible. As long as you keep quiet you're okay. You got that?"

The girls nodded.

"Good. Now I need you to run out of the maze. Once you're out of the maze, get rid of the invisibility hex bags. Just drop them. Leave them. Then I need you to find me two men. Their names are Sam and Dean. Can you do that? Just scream for them at the top of your lungs. They'll find you. You following me so far?"

The girls nodded.

"Okay. Once they find you—and be sure to do lots of screaming, they're used to screaming—tell them that it's a Vanir, and I'm dealing with it, but they have to find the sacred spot. Tell them to find it and destroy it. They'll take care of things from there. Can you repeat that to me?"

The girls repeated her instructions perfectly. Monday nodded. "Great. Where are your parents?"

"Eating. They said we could go in while they ate, and to come right back after."

"Okay. When you talk to Sam and Dean, go find your parents. If they ask about the hex bag, tell them you got scared in the maze, so a nice girl gave you a good luck charm. Your parents won't believe you if you tell them the truth. Parents are silly like that. Got it?"

The girls nodded.

"Now on my count, I need you to run. Run as fast as you can." Monday led them to the exit of the barn. "You ready?"

The girls nodded.

"You're very brave. Remember, just hold onto those bags and you'll be safe. On my count. Three. Two. One. Go!"

The girls took off, holding hands where their wrists were bound by the necklace, hex bag hanging down between them. Monday waited until they vanished into the corn.

She hoped they'd be okay.

"All right." She stood.

Angels and demons? That was all new. That she needed Dean and Castiel for. But this? This was Old Gods.

This was her territory.

* * *

"Hey!"

Sam turned away from the paramedics to see Dean running up, supplies in hand. "What happened?"

Sam gestured at the ambulance. "A teenager went into the maze with her boyfriend. Said they were attacked and he was killed—she barely got away in time. Get this, she described her attacker as a freaky scarecrow."

Dean swore. "And Monday's still in there?"

"Far as I know. She hasn't come out yet."

"We have to get her out of there. If this is the same thing we ran up against in Indiana, it has its male sacrifice but still needs a girl one."

"Yeah, I think this is a little different," Sam said. "Get this: there were fifteen employees in the maze at the start of the evening. Ten males and five females. Now all of them are missing."

Dean blinked. "You mean this guy nabbed all of them, plus this chick's boyfriend? That's sixteen kills, Sam, and not an even split on the gender."

"I know. It's weird."

"Sam! Dean! Sam! Dean!"

The brothers turned towards the source of the noise, but didn't see anyone. "Yeah?" Dean called. "Who's asking?"

"Here!"

"You forgot to let go of the invisible ones!"

"Oops."

Two girls, about twelve years old, suddenly appeared out of nowhere. They were dressed like Disney princesses and bound together at the wrists by a necklace, from which dangled a familiar-looking hex bag.

"Are you Sam and Dean?" One of them asked.

"Yup, that's us," Dean said.

"Oh, good!" One of the girls said. "The nice girl said to find you!"

"Uh-huh?" Sam asked, helping untie their wrists. "What'd she say?"

"It was really scary," one of the girls said. "There was this evil monster after us."

"He looked like a scarecrow."

"He got one of the workers!"

"But this other girl, she gave us these bags."

"She said they were hex bags."

"They made us invisible!"

"And this one here kept us safe."

"She said to come to you and say, it's a Vanir, and she's dealing with it, but you have to find the secret spot—"

"Sacred spot."

"And destroy it!"

The two girls looked up at them, smiling proudly.

"Well, you two girls were very brave," Dean said. "Go on to your parents now. We'll get rid of the monster."

The girls scampered off, still holding hands.

Dean looked over at Sam, who was holding Monday's protection hex bag. "What do you say?" He asked.

"I say we do as Monday says," Sam told him.

"Sam, she's up against a god on a rampage."

"Dean, she thought she was a demigod until a few months ago. She's a witch. This is what she does." Sam knew that Dean was protective of Monday after the kidnapping incident—he'd even check on Monday while she was sleeping to make sure she wasn't having nightmares. "I think the best way to help her is to find this sacred spot."

"Okay, but how?"

Sam shrugged. "Ask the locals. Any good luck tree or other local legend around here?"

Dean looked back at the corn maze. "I don't like leaving her in there."

"You've said it yourself, Dean—she's tough. She can handle herself. We'd do no good rushing in there. The way to destroy this god is destroy the sacred object it's tied to."

Reluctantly, Dean turned away and followed Sam.

* * *

Monday made her way through the corn maze, archangel blade tucked away and hands out with her palms up. "_I come in peace!_" She called out in Norse. "_I come to speak to the Vanir!_"

The corn rustled around her, and she forced herself to stay calm. "_I am a speaker for the dead, a wise woman, a healer. I am one who communes with the gods. I come in peace to speak to the Vanir!_"

The corn rustled violently and suddenly parted, making a thin path for her to follow. Keeping her hands out and palms up in a gesture of peace, Monday followed it.

* * *

"Great, thank you," Sam said, smiling as the local walked away.

"Nothing, Sam," Dean said. "We've talked to at least twenty people by now, and none of them knows about a sacred tree or whatever."

"There has to be some explanation."

"Maybe the Vanir didn't get a sacrifice for years and this is why he'd suddenly acting out? Making up for lost time?"

"He wouldn't wait that long, Dean. He would have collected the sacrifice on his own every year in some way. The locals must have somehow been paying homage, even if they didn't realize it."

Sam looked around them at the fair, thinking. "Excuse me," he asked a vendor. "How long has this fair been going on?"

"Fifty-seven years," the vendor replied. "We're quite proud of it. People come from counties all over. Real town tradition."

"That's great. And, uh, is there any pig slaughtering event or anything like that?"

The vendor shook his head. "Nope."

"Any beginning or end of the fair commencement or celebration?"

"Well, every year at the opening of the fair, the mayor gives a speech," the man said, "And everyone gets a cup of beer to pour into the corn field where they build the maze. Sort of a symbolic fertilizing the land."

"Did they do it this year as well?"

"Oh yes. Every year."

"Thanks."

The vendor nodded and Sam turned back to Dean. "So that must be the rite."

"What, beer?"

"Lots of gods accept alcohol as a sacrifice. They're addicted to it. Others accept fruits and plants or money, or animal meat that's already been cut up and cooked. Very few gods actually required human sacrifice."

"But if this guy got his annual sacrifice," Dean said, "Then why is he going all bad horror flick on these people?"

"There has to be another reason," Sam said. "Somebody must have insulted him or something."

"And how are we going to find that person, huh? It's not the corn maze, because that's been going on for twenty some-odd years. If that insulted him he'd have popped up long ago." Dean stormed off. "I'm going in there, and I'm getting Monday out."

"Dean!" Sam hurried after his brother. "You can't."

"Who says I can't?" Dean turned on him. "Last time I let my guard down for a second, she got her wings ripped out. It took her weeks to get back on her feet and she still has nightmares, Sammy. I'm not letting her go through something like that again."

Sam grabbed Dean's arm as he tried to walk away again. "Dean, she's a witch. And not the kind we've been fighting all these years. She follows what she calls the old path, the old ways. That means honoring gods, turning to nature and spirits for guidance—not demons. This is a god. Angels and all that—she doesn't know that. She's not prepared for that. But this? This she is prepared for. I've seen her in action as a witch, Dean, and trust me, she knows what she's doing."

Dean glared at him, still unconvinced.

"Look, what if someone told you they didn't trust you to handle a salt and burn by yourself? Or any kind of hunt for that matter? Wouldn't you be pissed?"

Dean made a face that said he agreed with Sam, but he didn't like it.

"Same here, with Monday. She's eighteen, Dean. She's known us for barely a year. She survived years on the streets. Let her be an adult and handle this."

Dean yanked his arm away from Sam. "Fine. She has half an hour. After that, I'm going in."

Sam sighed. "I'll see if I can find out how the god was offended."

"Fine." Dean leaned against a bench, arms folded, staring at the corn maze. "I'm waiting right here."

* * *

The path led Monday into the very center of the cornfield. There, it turned into a small circle of bare earth, surrounded by corn. Various bloodied bodies littered the area, and in the center—a pole where a scarecrow would rest.

He was here. She couldn't see him, but she knew the god-spirit was here. The Vanir.

"_I come in peace to speak with the Vanir,_" she said. "_I come for the people. I worship the gods and speak with the dead. I am a healer, a wise woman. I come to speak for the people._"

There was a fierce wind, and the Vanir stood before her. It loomed, tall and gangly, its joints pointing and bending in strange directions, its empty eyes staring at her.

"_Why do you slay the people?_" Monday asked, speaking in Norse. "_Have they forgotten to honor you?_"

"_They honor me,_" The god replied. Its voice was hoarse and deep, rumbling up from the ground and slithering into her ear.

"_Then why do you slay them?_"

"_The time has come, spirit talker, wise woman, healer._" The god made a sound that might have been a chuckle. "_Your kind are few. I have not seen one of you for many years._"

"_We are few, but we are strong. We remember the old ways. What time has come?_"

"_The time to take what is ours._"

"_You have what is yours. You said the people honor you. That is your due._"

"_They honor, but they do not remember. My brothers and sisters, they are not honored. My cousins, they are not honored. My parents and masters, they are not honored. The people forget. It is time they remember._"

The other Vanir were the brothers and sisters. The Norse gods such as Thor were the parents and masters.

"_Who are your cousins? The Aesir?_"

The old god made that chuckling sound again. "_They are also my brothers and sisters. Old cousins. Distant cousins. We rise up together._"

"_Rise up against whom?_"

"_The people who forget._"

"_Is this how you rise up? By slaying the people?_"

"_The time has come. The uprising begins._"

"_Ragnarok?_"

"_The end of the world is not at hand. Ragnarok came, and was prevented. This is the uprising._"

"_Who is leading you? The Allfather?_"

"_Older than he._"

Older than Odin? This was a powerful god indeed.

"_What is his name?_"

"_You ask many questions._"

"_The people want answers._"

"_They have all the answer they need. The time has come. Bow down and worship as you once did, and all will be well._"

"_I will tell them. But you must stop the slaying of the people._"

The god chuckled again, which Monday took as a no.

"_Stop the slaying of the people._"

"_You give me orders?_"

"_Stop the slaying of the people._"

The god drew out a scythe. It gleamed in the moonlight, the blade long and curved. "_The time has come. None can stop us._"

Monday stood still and let the blade descend. Blood poured from the wound, staining the mouth. "_I lied._"

The god paused.

"_I am a healer, a wise woman, one who speaks with the dead and worships the gods._"

Monday stepped out from the shadows behind the god, archangel blade gleaming.

"_But I am more than that._"

She stabbed him, letting her bloody copy vanish.

"_I am a trickster, and I bring justice._"

The spirit-god screamed as he died.

* * *

"Time's up," Dean announced. "I'm heading in."

"Dean."

The brothers froze in their tracks as a figure stepped out of the maze. It was covered in strange, black liquid that stained their outfit, and in their hand they carried an archangel blade. When the figure saw them, it waved.

Dean ran over, Sam behind him, and approached Monday. She grinned triumphantly, but she looked exhausted. "You okay?"

Monday nodded. "Yup. Dispatched a god, saved some kids, at a lot of candy—that's what you do at a fair, right?"

Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Nice work, kiddo. You did good."

"Yeah," Sam said sarcastically. "He wasn't worried about you at all."

They walked back to the car, Monday explaining what had happened.

"And you don't know who's leading them?" Sam asked.

"He wouldn't say."

"So now the Old Gods are rising up," Dean said, unlocking the car. "Peachy."

"They're tired of being ignored. They rely upon sacrifices to gain strength and survive. Without it, they're just shells. Like ghosts, really."

"You know what I think?" Dean said. "I think that sounds like a problem for another day."

"Don't underestimate the Old Gods, Dean," Monday said, clambering into the backseat.

"Right now we have to close the Gates of Hell and Heaven and find a way to get Cas back," Dean said, starting the car. "I think that's enough on our plate."

Monday didn't even bother with a seatbelt, lying down in the backseat and curling up. "I'm just saying. We'll have to deal with it at some point."

"Uh-huh. First things first."

Sam stretched out and picked up the book he'd taken from the bunker—something about Wendigos—and began reading.

Dean headed back towards the highway and looked back at Monday in the review mirror. She was already falling asleep.

"We'll deal with it," he promised her.

Old Gods uprising—now that was a problem and a half. But first things first.

They had to get Cas back.


	15. Band Aid Solution

**Adam tackles the second trial to close the Gates of Hell while Dean and Monday search for the angel tablet and two old "friends" are run into.**

* * *

The warehouse was dark and empty, causing the slightest noise to echo. Dean came around the corner, gun drawn, wary.

A sound or perhaps instinct warned him and he brought his gun up—too late. The gun was struck down, and then Dean himself was struck down.

Castiel appeared over him.

"No," Dean said. "Cas, no!"

He raised his hand towards Castiel, but the angel broke his wrist. The sound of the bone snapping echoed in the room. Dean groaned in pain.

"Cas… no, don't—please."

Castiel drew his blade and buried it into Dean's chest.

The hunter fell back, dead, blood running out of his mouth.

A heartbeat, then two, and suddenly there was the click of switches and the buzz of electricity. The lights in the warehouse came on.

Naomi walked into the room.

"No hesitation. Quick. Brutal."

She and Castiel stared down at Dean. "Everything's back in order," she said. She smiled at Castiel. "Finally."

Castiel's face remained expressionless.

"You're ready."

Behind the two angels was the entire floor of the warehouse, covered in bodies in various positions. They were all bloodied, all dead…

And all Dean.

* * *

_Ring._

The phone echoed through the silent bunker.

_Ring._

"Turn it off," Monday moaned from her room, stuffing a pillow over her head.

_Ring._

"Sam," Dean called from his room. "Phone."

_Ring._

"Dean," Sam replied. "You get it."

_Ring._

"You get it!"

_Ring._

"Somebody get it or I'm going to hex all of you!"

_Ring._

"Not a morning person, Evans?"

_Ring._

"Maybe I would be if I woke up next to you, Chambers."

_Ring._

"Stop yelling!" Dean yelled. "And stop flirting."

_Ring._

"Oh for crying out loud…"

Amelia strode into the room and picked up the phone from where Sam had left it lying on the table. "Hello? Hi Kevin!"

Sam stumbled into the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dean wasn't far behind, pointing at Sam's bedraggled hair and muttering something about five minutes and scissors.

"You did? Fantastic. Hold on." Amelia looked over at Sam and Dean. "Is Adam still asleep?"

"Wouldn't surprise me, kid can sleep through anything," Dean replied. He then raised his voice. "Including two girls who don't understand what over-sharing means!"

Monday's response was something in Enochian that, had Castiel been around to translate it, would have made Dean ground her for a week.

"It's three thirty in the morning, Dean," Sam pointed out.

"Don't I know it. I'll go wake up Adam."

Dean returned shortly with Adam in tow, and Amelia put the phone on speaker. "You're on, Kevin."

_Okay, so I figured out the second trial._

"You crazy prophet you," Dean said. "Nice work!"

_Thanks. So, it has a bunch of flowery language but it basically says that the person undergoing the trials must rescue an innocent soul from Hell and deliver them unto Heaven._

"What?" Sam said.

_Unto. That's how God talks._

"Rescue a soul from Hell?" Sam said. "Like actually go to Hell?

"How—how do you get a soul unto Heaven?" Adam asked. "I mean, how do you even get a soul out of Hell?"

_Beats me._

"Sounds like you boys have stuff to figure out," Dean said, clapping both Sam and Adam on the shoulder. "Monday and I are heading out for the last crypt in a few hours so I'm going to go get some shut—"

There was a knock at the bunker door. Everyone looked up and stared.

"Uh…" Sam was at a loss for words.

"Garth and Becky?" Adam hazarded.

"They would have called," Amelia replied.

"Jody?"

"Too busy with the kids."

Monday suddenly ran into the room. "Dean!" She said. "Demon!"

Everyone stared at her, and then back up at the door. The knock came again.

"Uh, Kevin?" Dean said. "We're going to have to call you back."

* * *

Dean approached the door, Sam right behind him. Amelia, Adam, Krissy and Monday were all down at the foot of the stairs, weapons at the ready.

Nobody was at the inner door.

"Guess they're still stuck at the outer door," Dean said.

"That's good news, right? Means the anti-demon stuff is working?"

"Sam, the fact that this demon even found the place isn't a good thing."

They walked down the short tunnel.

"You suppose it's Crowley?" Sam asked. "We haven't heard from him in far too long."

"I have a feeling Crowley'd make a more dramatic entrance than this."

Dean cautiously peered through the peephole to see who it was. He sucked in a breath. "Son of a bitch…"

Dean swung the door open, and a bloodied and bruised Meg collapsed onto the ground. She looked up at them and cracked a smile. "Hello, boys."

* * *

Meg sat wrapped in a blanket at the kitchen table, sipping some coffee that Amelia had whipped up. Monday had used some magic to temporarily nullify the various anti-demon measures, allowing Meg to enter the bunker. Dean had to admit, the demon looked worse for wear. She had a black eye and swollen cheek, plus a cut at her mouth and filthy clothes.

"What truck hit you?" He asked, sitting down. Sam took the chair next to him, while Amelia leaned back against the counter by the coffee maker, fingers resting a scant inch from a bottle of holy water.

"Goes by the name of Crowley," Meg replied dryly. "Maybe you've heard of him." She eyed Adam, Krissy and Monday, who were all standing at the entrance to the kitchen with weapons in hand. "What? I help you guys and Clarence out with the Leviathan thing and that doesn't mean anything to you? I stuck my neck out for you guys. I'm on your side."

"Girls," Dean said. "Put 'em down."

"Adam, same," Sam said.

The trio reluctantly set aside their weapons and sat down at the table. Monday kept her arms folded, toying with the ring on her finger. Krissy was on Monday's left side, further away from Meg, her gaze hard. Adam mirrored Monday's pose.

"That's more like it," Meg said. "You guys picked up quite the posse while I was gone. What are you, the Wild Bunch?"

"This is my fiancée, Amelia," Sam said. Amelia arched her eyebrows at Meg.

"Fiancée?" Meg said, sitting up a little and smirking at Amelia. "My, my."

"This is Adam, our half-brother," Sam gestured at Adam.

"Ooh, Michael's meatsuit, right?" Meg grinned. "Ooh, I'm sorry. Bad memories."

Adam glared at her.

"And this here," Dean said, "Are Krissy and Monday."

"Cute," Meg said, glancing at Krissy. When she saw Monday, her eyes gleamed. "You look familiar."

"Probably take after my dad," Monday replied, sliding off her ring. Her eyes glowed gray and her extra digits and claws extended.

Meg gaped. "A nephilim?" She looked over at Dean and Sam. "You guys net yourself a nephilim? I thought they were extinct."

"Have been, until Gabriel forgot to play it safe," Dean replied.

Monday waggled her fingers. "Hi," she said in her deep voice before putting the ring back on.

"Hmm. I should've recognized the smell of smarminess," Meg said.

Monday glared at her.

"What are you doing here, Meg?" Dean asked.

Meg smiled. "I should have thought it was obvious," she replied. "I'm offering my services."

"Your what?" Sam said.

Meg cocked her head at them. "You're closing the Gates of Hell, right?" Upon seeing their stares, she rolled her eyes. "What? You thought you could get away with killing Growley and nobody would notice?"

"Growley?"

"Crowley's favorite hellhound. He was real cut up when that guy didn't come home one day, let me tell you. Hellhounds are loyal to Hell—crazy loyal—but once in a while they choose a single master. One demon that they call their own. And when they do that… well, there's nothing in the world more devoted. That was what that hellhound was to Crowley. And you killed him." Meg's smile was like that of a snake. "He's pissed, to say the least."

"How'd you figure out the Gates were closing?"

"Oh, I did a little digging. Lucifer and Michael say hi, by the way." Meg's grin grew at Sam and Adam's discomfort. "Oh, don't worry. They didn't actually bother talking to me. But I knew about the possibility of the Gates and the demon tablet. Azazel kept his daughter well informed."

"And how can you help us?" Sam asked.

Meg shrugged. "Well, it's Hell. I'm a demon. I'm sure I can help you out in some way."

"But you're a demon," Dean said. "Hell is your home. You were one of the main agents in bringing Lucifer back—hell you were the adopted daughter of the guy who planned the whole thing! Why would you want it shut?"

"As I'm sure Ruby told you, Hell isn't fun, even for demons," Meg replied. "Oh, don't be so shocked. Yes, I knew her. She was like a sister to me. The Sam to my Dean." Meg's smile turned brittle. "Hurt like a bitch when I knew she'd been killed, but it was her own fault. Falling in love with a Winchester and all." She winked at Sam. "This one's a charmer, Amelia. Even I would've loved to get a taste."

If looks could kill, the one Amelia sent Meg would've turned the demon to ash.

"Point is, Crowley's in charge of Hell now and Lucifer's locked up for good. My father is dead. My brother is dead. Ruby is dead. Lilith is dead. My family, the people I fought for back during the Apocalypse, they're all gone. I want to move on, and that means closing the Gates."

Dean and Sam looked at each other. "She could help us with the second trial, Dean," Sam pointed out. "Or even go with you to the crypt."

"Crypt?" Meg sat up straight. "Lucifer's Crypt? You found one?"

"Found all of them," Dean replied. "This is just the last one."

"What are you looking for?"

"The angel tablet," Dean replied.

Meg's smile grew wide and gleaming. "You're going to close the Gates of Heaven, too? Oh, this is too perfect. What's Clarence think of all this?"

Dean smothered his expression but he wasn't quite quick enough for Meg. Her smile faltered, then flattened. "What happened to him?"

"You heard of an angel named Naomi?"

"What, Crowley's old fuck buddy?"

Dean—in fact, everyone at the table—stared at her. "His _what_?" Sam spluttered.

"Oh, this is good," Monday said gleefully.

"Naomi and Crowley had a thing back in the Mesopotamia days," Meg said. "I guess she's big in Heaven now, runs a lot of the administration. Why?"

Monday bit her lip, and Krissy laid her hand on the nephilim's knee. Dean kept his face carefully neutral. "A couple of months ago a mission went sideways and she nabbed Cas. Took him to Heaven, so we can't get to him."

Meg pursed her lips. "Doesn't sound good, but it's not hopeless."

"You know how to get him back?" Sam asked.

"Maybe, maybe not. What are the trials?"

Everyone was taken aback by her change of subject. "Trials?"

"To close the Gates of Hell, genius. First one was kill a hellhound, right?"

"Yes," Adam replied. "The second is to rescue an innocent soul from Hell and deliver them unto Heaven?"

Meg smirked. "Unto?"

"That's how God talks, apparently."

"How uppity of Him." Meg's smile grew. "It's difficult, but it's definitely possible. I can show you part of the way, but of course you'll need to do it yourself in the end." She turned to Dean. "I'll even help you with the last crypt and getting your angel back. On one condition."

"Here it goes," Sam muttered.

"I decide what soul you rescue from Hell."

That was definitely not what anyone expected.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked.

"You heard me. I pick the soul that gets saved. Oh," Meg went on, "And the delivering unto? Doesn't have to be right away. You just have to make sure they go to Heaven when they die, however long that takes."

"But they have to be an innocent soul," Adam protested.

Meg glared at him icily. "I consider selling your soul at the age of fourteen without knowing what the consequences were in order to escape your abusive parents is plenty innocent."

"Wait," Dean said. He knew that story. "You know her?"

Meg smiled. "We were inmates together, let's put it that way."

"Who are we talking about?" Sam asked.

"Bela," Dean said. "The soul she wants Adam to rescue is Bela Talbot."

* * *

"Bela," Amelia said. "Isn't she the one who gave you all that trouble back in the day?"

"Yes," Sam said. "But she didn't deserve Hell."

"And now she won't have to!" Meg said brightly.

"What is this, some kind of quid pro quo?" Dean asked. "What did she do for you that you want her out of Hell?"

"You and Castiel?" Meg said. "Me and Bela."

Again, everyone stared.

"You're—you're dating?" Sam asked.

"In a matter of speaking," Meg replied. "We were in, let's say, maximum security together."

"What for?"

"Well I was in there for rebelling against the King of Hell. Bela was in there for escaping."

"Escaping?" Dean shook his head. "Nobody escapes."

"Bela did. Got all the way to the top level of Hell before they caught up with her. Threw her in with me."

"Did she…"

"Mention you? Yeah. Forgave you after a while. No hard feelings."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" Meg smiled. "Bela was Dean's first project when he started turning demon. She never broke, by the way," she added, turning back to Dean. "So she is fully innocent."

"And my last project?" Dean asked. "You know about that one?"

Meg nodded.

"And?"

"Still hasn't broken. Longest lasting. Bela gets second place, of course, and then you third."

"Third for what?" Sam asked.

"Third in how long it took them to break. Dean here lasted thirty years. Bela lasted fifty before she first tried to escape. She's had a few escape attempts and after the last one they put her with me for Crowley to deal with personally. She's been down there, what, several hundred years now? And first place is your old man." Meg didn't smile this time. "He's been there for a few hundred years—longer than Bela by a couple hundred—and he's still not broken. Tough man."

Sam looked at Dean. "So when you say 'last project'…"

"Dad was the person I was supposed to torture next when Cas got to me," Dean said. He kept his voice low and stared down at the table. "I refused. First time in the ten years since I'd started I refused to do it. Alistair told me I'd end up back on the rack, but I said no. Not Dad. Alistair started beating on me, and that's when Cas grabbed me."

Sam stared. "You didn't—you never told me—"

"I didn't know until a few months ago!" Dean replied. "I only remembered up until a certain point. Everything having to do with Cas, including that part, was blocked. Cas unlocked the memories back when we—you know."

There was silence for a moment. Meg was the one who broke it.

"So, do we have a deal?" She asked brightly.

* * *

Hell was a strange, twisting place. It was made of smoke and shadow, fire and brimstone, with sulfur choking the air and flames casting a creepy red and orange glow. Everything in it, from the stinging air to the jagged rocks, was designed to deliver pain. Everywhere you went, you could hear screams and shrieks of pain, the kind you never thought were even possible. Everywhere you looked, you could see someone hanging from chains or meat hooks, or strapped to a chair, or tied to a table, blood leaking out of wounds and all manner of devices stuck into them. Limbs were hand. Bodies were carved into. Some parts had a caves. The victims lay on a soft bed instead of a rack and were held down with silk instead of leather straps, but the end result was the same, and the screams and sobs never changed. There was begging and pleading, shouts for help from mom, dad, friends and lovers, anyone who was listening—please, get them out of there. Demons whirled through the air and slithered over the rocks, waiting to leap onto a victim who thought they were alone, or even on top of each other to tussle and fight. Not even demons were safe in Hell. Not even the most vile could escape the pain.

It was into this world of poisoned light and cursed shadow that Meg brought Adam. His body lay on his bed in the bunker, but his soul was with Meg. She led him carefully past the traps and the tormenters, down through the various circles. Some levels had themes, almost like Dante, but Adam did his best not to look.

"There," Meg said, pointing. "I can't go any farther, but she's in there."

Adam nodded, not looking at Meg either. Her true face was all he could see down here, and it was nothing short of hideous. Not that she could help it.

"Remember, she's just a soul down here, same as you. You see her and yourself in your human form because that's how your limited sense perceive it," Meg explained. "Let your souls fuse together. Take her into you. Like when you were Michael's vessel—except you're in Michael's position now."

Adam nodded.

"Come out the same way we went in. Anyone catches you, you're on your own." Meg laid a hand on his shoulder. Adam tried not to focus on the feel of the hand itself, which was managing to be dry and scaly while also oozing, and rather on what Meg meant it to be—a comforting gesture. "Good luck."

Meg made her way back towards the surface, and Adam headed towards the cell where Bela was held.

* * *

"Are all the crypts in these kinds of places?" Dean asked, pulling up to another decrepit warehouse.

"Azazel didn't want to risk anyone finding them. Archeologists, curious teens, hunters—whatever." Meg got out of the car as Dean rolled to a stop. "Let's go."

Dean got out as well, with Monday right behind them. "Think Naomi will make an appearance?" She asked.

"I don't know," Dean replied, not adding that he really hoped she would. He'd like to show that bitch that he remembered a few tricks from Hell, thanks very much, and show her what happened when you took a member of his family.

"Aren't you supposed to have wings or something?" Meg asked Monday as they entered the warehouse.

Monday took off her shirt and turned her back to Meg so that the demon could see the scars. They were two angry red lines of puckered skin that ran down either side of the girl's spine. Monday let Meg look for a moment, and then put her shirt back on. "Naomi took them," she said. "When she took Castiel from us."

"Believe it or not," Meg said, "That angel of yours is a friend of mine. He's a good guy." Her human eyes flicked back, revealing her black demon eyes. "I'm on your side with this one."

Dean swept some rotting floorboards out of the way with his foot, revealing the crypt entrance. "I'm going down there," he said. "Meg, you're with me. Monday, you stay topside."

"That's not fair!" Monday replied.

"I'm not risking you," Dean said. "You're staying up here. Be our early warning system."

"You're just being overprotective," Monday retorted. "I can handle my own, Dean."

"Stay. Up. Here," Dean repeated.

Monday folded her arms but stayed where she was. Meg lifted up the entrance door, and she and Dean descended into the darkness.

* * *

Adam hadn't really been expecting it, but Bela Talbot was beautiful.

Like, drop dead gorgeous. Seriously.

And she was dating a demon? What?

Adam tapped lightly on the bars of the cell. "Bela Talbot?"

Bela looked up, her face registering both distrust and confusion. "You're human," she said. "But you're not chained. What kind of game are they playing?"

"Meg sent me," Adam replied. "I'm, uh, supposed to close the Gates of Hell and part of that is rescuing an innocent soul from Hell. Meg said she'd help us but only if the soul I rescued was you."

Bela arched an elegantly shaped eyebrow. "And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"She said you'd say that. She said to tell you, um, the motel. She meant every word."

Bela regarded him for a moment, like a queen who is faced with a peasant. Then she stood up, elegant as a cat, and made her way over to Adam, holding out her wrists. They were chained. "All right, pretty boy. Get me out of here."

* * *

"Smells disgusting in here," Meg commented. "You're lucky your human senses are so dull."

"Thanks," Dean replied sarcastically. "Any way to open this pillar?"

Meg approached it, running her fingers over the stone. "I remember when these were made," she said, her voice husky and low. "Humans had barely settled the west." She smiled nostalgically. "Cowboys and Indians."

She pressed down with her palm at the center of the pillar, and a catch released. A piece of stone slide out, revealing a box. Meg lifted the box up and placed it on top of the pillar, lifting the lid a fraction to show Dean what was inside.

It was a tablet, just like the demon and Leviathan one.

"Great," Dean said. "Let's go."

Two things happened at once.

Up topside, Monday screamed a warning.

And a bright light filled the crypt.

* * *

Adam blinked, opening his eyes—his body's eyes. He was back in his body.

"You okay there?" Amelia asked.

He nodded. "Where's Bela?"

Amelia motioned to the body on the other bed. Meg had provided it. Adam cut open his arm, and let the soul flow from it into the prone body on the bed.

Bela Talbot gasped, and opened her eyes.

* * *

The bright light in the crypt faded, and Dean nearly dropped his angel blade.

"Cas?" He whispered.

Castiel glared at him.

"Uh, Dean?" Meg sounded actually hesitant. "I don't think he's your Cas anymore."

It was true. Castiel was looking at Dean in a way Dean had never, in any of their interactions, seen Cas look at him—cold and hard, like an enemy. Not an ounce of emotion or recognition was in that face.

"Cas?"

Castiel started advancing, drawing his angel blade.

Up topside, Monday screamed again—this time, it sounded like it was from pain.

"Meg, help Monday," Dean said.

Meg hesitated. "Dean, I think he's going to—"

"Don't worry about me. I got this. Just get Monday."

Meg backed away slowly until she reached the stairs, and then booked it.

And Dean was alone with Castiel.

The angel began advancing, blade in hand.

"Cas," Dean said. "Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this."

Castiel swiped at him with the angel blade. Dean dodged. "Cas!"

Castiel struck again, and again Dean dodged. He wasn't going to hurt the angel. "Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!"

Dean put his hand on Castiel's shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Cas," he said.

Castiel backhanded him, throwing him against the wall. Dean slammed into it and he could hear his back crack as he fell to the floor. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

Castiel attacked again. Dean threw a punch, trying to hit him, hoping the blow would snap Cas out of it. Castiel grabbed Dean's forearm and broke it—Dean could hear the bone snap, and felt the pain radiate up his body. Dean fell onto his knees.

The angel didn't give Dean a chance to recover. He began beating Dean, hitting him with his fist as well as the butt of his angel blade.

"You want it?" Dean yelled, gesturing at the angel tablet. Castiel looked over at it dispassionately, as if he had forgotten it was even there. "Take it!"

Castiel looked back down at him. "But you're gonna have to kill me first," Dean growled. "Come on, you coward! Do it. Do it!"

Castiel hit him again, and again, and again. Dean groaned. He could barely open his eyes, and he was certain that there were bones in his face that were broken. A few of his teeth felt loose and his lips were swollen, but he tried to speak anyway.

"Cas… this isn't you. This isn't you."

Castiel raised his fist again.

"Cas, Cas…" He reached up, reaching for the angel. "I know you're in there."

Castiel pointed the angel blade towards him—the sharp end, this time.

"I know you can hear me. Cas…" His voice broke. He was pleading, but he didn't give a damn. "It's me. We're family. We need you. Sam needs you. Monday needs you. I need you."

Castiel raised the blade higher, preparing to strike.

"Dammit Cas, I love you!"

Castiel's blade slipped through his fingers, dropping to the floor with a clang.

* * *

Monday felt it just before they arrived.

Her early warning system, as Dean had put it, felt odd. It was like someone had tied a piece of string to a part of her brain, and when demons or angels (or both) were about to arrive, they yanked on the string.

In other words, it hurt.

"Dean!" She called out. "They're coming!"

She fully expected angels—led by Bartholomew or possibly even Naomi—to descend.

What she didn't expect was a well-dressed man in a suit.

Well, technically he was a demon, she supposed. He had red eyes, four shadows that fell in the four cardinal directions, and a Cheshire grin that was pretty fucking unnerving. He wasn't exactly pretty.

Thing about seeing true forms—she could see their human form at the same time. It was like the true form hovered around the human form, and in some cases she felt like she was seeing double. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but she'd quickly adjusted to it as far as angels were concerned. This demon guy? Not so much.

She'd never admit it to anyone, but she was kind of scared.

"Who're you?" Monday asked.

She heard growling from somewhere near the guy's feet, and looked down, but she couldn't see anything. The growling sounded again, louder.

Invisible monsters?

"I'm Crowley, King of Hell. And you are?"

He spoke with an accent. British? Scottish?

"Monday Evans. Witch."

"Hmm. Never thought I'd see Dean Winchester mixing with one of them." Crowley took a step closer, a blade flicking out from between his fingers. Monday held up her own blade in retaliation. "Well, well, what's this?"

"Well, as long as we're comparing sizes," Monday said, "Mine's bigger."

"It's not about size, darling. It's about how you use it." Crowley twirled his blade.

Her memory was tugging at her.

_Mommy…_

"Why are you here?" She asked.

"Technically I'm after an escaped fugitive," Crowley said. "Goes by the name of Meg. But since the Winchester boys are trying to shut down my kingdom I figured why not bag them as well? Now," He waved his hand. "Step aside."

"No." Monday tightened her grip on her blade.

The invisible things at Crowley's feet growled again.

_Stay in the closet, honey._

_Mommy!_

"Don't make me sic my pets on you," Crowley warned.

"What? Because you're too scared to fight me on your own?"

Crowley sighed. "What is it about my not liking to get my hands dirty that makes people think I'm cowardly? I prefer not to ruin my suits, is that too difficult for you to understand?"

_Howling outside the window, growling in the living room._

_Pounding on the closet door._

_Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…_

"One last chance," Crowley said.

"And I said, you shall not pass," Monday replied. Lord of the Rings reference for the win.

"Have it your way."

Crowley snapped his fingers.

She didn't see the creature leave the ground or even land on her, but she felt the impact as it sent her flailing to the ground. And she definitely felt the claws dig into her skin, raking down her face and chest. She screamed and fought it off, digging her blade in, making black blood spew, but there were more of them around her, growling and snapping—

"Hey!" Someone yelled. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"Like you?"

"Bit-Bit! Sic 'em!"

Another invisible creature slammed into the ones on top of Monday, sending them sprawling. Monday tried to get up but felt an enormous paw in her chest, keeping her down. It was difficult to breathe. Her face and chest were torn up, and every time she sucked in a breath blood entered her throat and she coughed. The thing with its paw on her chest was hovering just above her—she lifted her hand and met soft fur.

It was protecting her. It was protecting her from the others.

"You're not the only one with a trained hellhound," Meg said.

Meg. The demon helping them. Meg was protecting her.

Monday tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle. She could feel her body trying to heal. It hurt.

And still that memory tugged at her—her mother, torn apart by invisible monsters.

She had just been torn apart by invisible monsters.

A demon with a shadow that pointed in four directions: north, south, east and west.

There was the sound of clashing weapons, and she knew that Meg and Crowley were fighting.

It wasn't possible…

_The time has come. The uprising has begun._

Was it?

_The time has come._

_The uprising has begun._

* * *

Castiel just stood there, staring down at Dean.

"Cas?"

Castiel reached for him and Dean flinched, thinking this was the end. But instead of striking him again or even smiting him, Castiel cradled his cheek.

"Cas?"

Dean gasped, feeling the power of the angel's Grace flood through him. The pain throughout his body vanished, and he knew that he had just been fully healed. He looked up.

"Dean."

Castiel fell to his knees, gripping Dean's shoulders. "Dean, I'm—I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Hey, it's okay." The angel slumped against him, his head falling onto Dean's shoulder. "What the hell just happened?"

"Naomi." Cas's breathing was labored. "She—she reprogrammed me. Tortured me and then—remade me. Told me to find you and kill you. But you," Cas smiled. "You, Dean, you…"

"Hey, hey, stop talking. Save it."

Dean managed to get to his feet, propping Cas up. He grabbed the angel tablet and slid it into his inner jacket pocket. "C'mon Cas, c'mon."

"Dean." Cas's eyes were mere slits. He tried to say something else, but his eyes closed and he slid to the floor.

"Cas!"

Dean tried to get him to his feet again. "C'mon, Cas, c'mon, don't do this to me. Don't do this to me, man. Don't you leave me."

Cas didn't respond.

Dean looked up the stairs. "Meg! Monday! Help!"

* * *

Meg and Crowley's blades met once again, the sound ringing through the air. "Go the Hell," Meg growled.

She swept her blade down, ready to cut through Crowley's body—

He vanished. He and his hellhounds vanished.

"Coward!" Meg screamed. "Fucking coward!"

There was a soft growling noise, and Meg looked behind her.

Bit-Bit, her hellhound, was still guarding Monday. Poor kid looked worse for wear. There were slashes up her chest and across her face. Ouch.

She appeared to be healing, though. Slowly, yes, but it was happening. The angel blood in her, Meg supposed.

"Good boy," Meg said, scratching behind Bit-Bit's ears.

Most hellhounds were loyal only to Hell, but when they chose a master, that loyalty was unending.

Meg smiled. "Go find Bela, okay? Go protect Bela."

Bit-Bit knew Bela's scent. He made a happy barking noise and ran off, the imprints of his paws in the dirt the only sign that he had been there.

"Meg!"

Dean appeared at the entrance to the crypt, struggling under the weight of another body. "We need to get him to the car, now!"

Meg hurried over and saw that Dean was carrying Castiel. The angel was pale, and his vessel wasn't breathing. It wasn't good.

Lifting Castiel's arm over her shoulders, Monday helped Dean carry him to the car. "Where's Monday?" Dean asked.

"Back over there."

Dean ran back to the crypt entrance, and she heard his shout of anger when he saw Monday.

"Here we go," she heard Dean say, his voice soft and parental. As she got Castiel into the backseat Meg saw Dean haul Monday up into his arms, her head lolling onto his shoulder. She seemed to be trying to speak, but it all came out as gurgling.

"You did good," Dean said. "You did good, sweetheart."

He carried her back to the Impala, setting her gently in the backset next to Cas. "Just hold on," he said. "We're getting you back to Amelia."

Monday tried to speak again, found she couldn't, and made a noise of frustration. She held up her hands and made a crude letter K with her fingers.

"Krissy?"

Monday nodded. She wagged her finger in a no sign, and then made a talking motion, before pointing to herself.

"Don't tell her—Monday, she's going to see what happened."

Monday glared.

"All right, I'll try and keep her distracted. You just hang tight."

Monday seemed to let go then, and she passed out. Dean shut the car door and got into the driver's seat. Meg sat in the passenger seat. Dean didn't even check to see if she had her seatbelt on before peeling out onto the road.

* * *

Bela inspected her hands. They looked just like she remembered—but of course they did. Why wouldn't they?

"Hey there stranger."

Bela looked up. Meg was standing in the doorway. She'd looked better, but Bela had seen what Meg was capable of and knew the other guy looked a lot worse.

"You did it," Bela said.

Meg came over and sat next to her. "Told you I would, didn't I?"

Bela nodded.

Meg took her hands in hers, running her thumb over the back of Bela's knuckles. "You're safe now," Meg whispered. "You'll go to Heaven when you die, and you've got a long life ahead of you until then."

"And you?" Bela asked.

Meg shrugged. "I could always keep helping these boys out, I suppose. Take Crowley down… or…" She looked up into Bela's face. "You need a partner for these heists and cons?"

Bela felt herself—her lips, her mouth, her body—smile. The action felt amazing. "You'd want to come?"

"Long as you'll have me."

Bela gripped Meg's hands tightly and kissed her.

* * *

Monday's eyes blinked open.

"Hey there sleepyhead."

She glared up at Sam. "Well this is déjà vu," she noted. "How bad is it?"

Sam made a face. "Amelia stitched you up as best she could, and your healing helped, but, um, here." He helped her to sit up and handed her a hand-held mirror.

The angry pick gashes ran down her face. She could see where they started to run down her chest, too, but most of that was still covered with gauze.

"You're lucky to be alive," Sam said. "That would've killed any human instantly. Your angel side kept you alive."

"Barely." Monday set down the mirror. "If I keep this up you guys are going to have to call me Scarface."

"Adam's been keeping Krissy busy," Sam said. "But she's going to figure out something's fishy before long."

"She'll be pissed I nearly died again." Monday sighed. "Oh, well. How's Meg? She went toe to toe with Crowley after I was down for the count."

"She's good—off with Bela, actually." Sam shook his head. "Those two together…"

"And Adam's all right?"

"Yup. Wasn't fun to go back, but he made it without incident."

"And Castiel?"

Sam started. "What do you mean, Castiel?"

"Dean had him. I saw it before I passed out. Where is he?"

Sam chewed on his lip. "Monday…"

She stared at him. "No."

"Dean—we're not sure what happened, but—"

"No." Monday threw off the covers and climbed out of bed, wincing. She took off down the hallway.

"Monday!"

Sam tore after her, but she still reached Dean's room before he could stop her. When she got there, she froze.

Dean was sitting on a char, head in his hands. He didn't look up.

Lying on the bed was Castiel.

Dead.


	16. Mark of Cain

**There's a reason Cas keeps coming back to life—but he's not the only one.**

* * *

Dean could hear Monday and the others, but it was as if they were very far away, almost like a television with the volume turned almost to mute. At some point Monday took off her ring, her voice booming loud and deep. If it was an intimidation tactic, it failed miserably.

But after a while the voices died down, and Dean was left with the silence.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

Four times. Four times he'd seen Cas die. Raphael, Lucifer, Leviathan—and Croatoans in that alternate 2014, which he still sometimes visited in his nightmares thanks very much.

So technically three times, and each time he'd come back. Hell when it came to Lucifer he'd come back so quickly that Dean had barely had time to react. And this time Dean wasn't leaving. Dean wasn't moving an inch until Cas came back, because he was coming back. He had to. It was how it worked. Cas always came back.

He knew Sam tried to talk to him at some point, but he didn't even hear what Sam said. Amelia might have come in at one point as well, and he knew the sandwich on the bedside table hadn't just appeared there. But nothing really drew his attention until he realized that someone else was there. Silent, but there.

Dean looked up.

Krissy was standing there, staring at the bed.

It threw Dean for a loop for a second, because Krissy had barely even known Cas, but then Dean looked at the bed and saw Cas wasn't alone on it. At some point Monday had crawled onto the bed and was sleeping with her head on Cas's chest, her hands maintaining a death grip on Cas's coat. Krissy must have noticed Dean looking up, because she turned a little and met his gaze.

"I managed to keep her from using black magic," she said. "But she wouldn't leave."

Dean looked over at Monday again, the new scars standing out on her face. "She's barely healed," he realized. "She shouldn't be in here, she needs to be with Amelia. When were those bandages last changed?"

Krissy shrugged. "Who knows? She's been here the past couple of hours."

That meant Dean had to have been in there at least a day. Which meant Cas—

He shoved that thought out of the way.

Dean forced himself out of the chair and moved around to the side of the bed Monday had managed to wedge herself onto. It seemed that he was carrying her around a lot lately, he thought as he hauled Monday up. She mumbled something in her sleep but didn't wake up, and Dean was able to carry her back to her own room. Krissy followed, waiting until Dean had set Monday down before sitting on the edge of the bed, taking one of Monday's hands in hers. Normally Dean might have made a crack or something, but he wasn't in the mood.

He headed back to his room and froze in the doorway.

Cas was gone.

* * *

Once, Castiel was an ordinary angel.

Yes, he was a fierce warrior and the pride of his garrison. He also had, as Samandriel had put it, the problem of too much heart, it's true. But insofar as powers and abilities went, he was the same as any of the other number of angels that made up the Host. He followed orders, did his best not to question, and whatever seeds of doubt or free will he harbored he tucked away deep inside.

And then he met Dean Winchester.

Slowly, Castiel started to change. He grew to value free will and choice over predetermined events. Peace or freedom, he was asked. And he chose freedom. He let those seeds deep within him flower into something more, something strong and lasting.

And God saw this, and He was pleased. And although it had been a long time since God had interfered in the lives of any of His children, He saw that the road ahead was long and hard for this particular child. He saw that Castiel loved deeply and without restraint, and that devotion would lead to his demise. He saw that, in his commitment to the Winchesters, and through them all of humanity, Castiel had been forced to turn against his own brethren and kill his brothers.

So God sought a way to aid the angel.

When Raphael descended and death was upon Castiel, God laid His hand upon His child, and gave Castiel a gift He had only bestowed upon one other. For when God cursed Cain for having slain his brother Abel, God marked Cain in two ways: that Cain's sin might be known among the people, and that Cain might be saved. The mark was both condemnation and redemption, for Cain was now at the mercy of his fellow man and the mark prevented anyone from harming Cain, reminding them all that although God must sometimes punish, He still found His child worthy of protection and grace.

And so it was with Castiel.

God laid His hand upon Castiel, and gave him the mark. So long as Castiel died in service to humanity—be it all humans or one in particular—he would return to life. He would, in short, be given another chance. It was almost, as the Buddhists called it, a cycle of resurrection.

In protecting the prophet Chuck and buying the Winchesters time, Castiel was in service to humanity, and so he lived.

In standing up to Lucifer and preventing the Apocalypse, Castiel was in service to humanity, and so he lived.

In trying to rid himself and the world of the Leviathan and prevent their preying upon the world, Castiel was in service to humanity, and so he lived.

And in rebelling against Naomi and Heaven to spare and heal Dean Winchester, despite the acute and mortal pain it would cause, Castiel was in service to humanity.

And so he lived.

* * *

Sam heard the footsteps behind him and smiled. Amelia had gotten back from the grocery store more quickly than he'd anticipated. "Back so soo—"

The words died in his throat and he nearly dropped the dish he was drying.

"Cas?"

Castiel frowned, staring at Sam, at the kitchen, and even at himself in bewilderment. "Hello, Sam."

"Cas." Sam slowly set the plate down. "Are you okay?"

"I believe so." Cas looked confused, to say the least. "Why am I here?"

"Good question." Sam had seen Cas's body for himself. Hell, Monday had done some witchcraft thing and pronounced him dead. How could he be standing there?

"Sam!" Dean sprinted into the room. "I left for two minutes and Cas is—"

Dean skidded to a halt, nearly slipping on the slick kitchen floor and pitching onto his face. He stared at Castiel like Sam imagined the guy in Plato's Cave stared at the sunlight upon seeing it for the first time.

Sam decided that was his cue and beat a hasty retreat. He should probably check on Monday. Yeah. He'd do that.

* * *

Cas. Cas was standing right—right there. In the kitchen, blue tie and everything, just… as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't collapsed and fucking _died_ in Dean's arms just twelve hours ago.

"You're alive," Dean said.

He almost slapped himself. Of all the stupid things to say.

Cas looked down at himself. "It appears so."

Dean took a step closer, hardly breathing, a part of him wondering if this whole thing was a hallucination or dream and Cas would vanish on him if he moved too quickly or spoke too loudly. "How…"

"I don't know," Cas answered. "I remember being under Naomi's control, and hearing your voice. I remember… I remember the things that you said. And I knew—I knew I had to break free. And I remember the pain."

"What was that?"

"I believe Naomi did something to make me self-destruct should I rebel against her programming."

Dean stared. How could Cas make it sound so matter of fact? How could he state things like that so calmly?

"Dean."

Cas's fingers brushed against his cheek, soft and cool and real, they were _real_. "I hurt you."

"You healed me too," Dean pointed out.

"Before that," Cas continued. "I killed you. She—I killed you. I killed you one thousand, two hundred and eighty times."

Dean couldn't understand. "But if you did it all of those times, then why didn't it work this time?"

Castiel's eyes were blazing blue, the heart of a flame. "Because none of them were you."

Their mouths crashed together, both of them a little desperate as they clung to one another. But Cas was there, Cas was _there_, real and alive and warm under his fingers, mouth hungry against his, everything feeling and tasting just as it should. Cas, Cas, his Cas. Always his Cas.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight again," Dean told him, only half-joking.

"That sounds agreeable," Cas replied, grinning against Dean's mouth.

And if a couple of tears leaked out the corners of his eyes, well, Cas wasn't going to tell anyone.

* * *

Amelia was deep in the middle of deciding whether to get smooth or crunchy peanut butter when someone accidentally ran into her cart.

"I'm so sorry!"

The girl handling the other cart was blonde and pretty, about college age. "It's no problem," Amelia said, smiling. "Happens all the time."

The girl smiled. "Thanks." She made as if to go on her way, and then paused. "I'm Jessica, by the way."

"Amelia."

They got to chatting and ended up finishing their shopping together, heading out to the parking lot and pushing their carts side by side. "So, I have to ask," Jessica said. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Amelia looked down at her ring, blushing. "His name's Sam."

"Sam Winchester?"

Amelia looked up. "How did you—?"

Jessica's eyes turned black, and she smiled wickedly. "Lucky guy indeed," she purred.

* * *

"Did you mean it?"

Dean was still a little out of it, but he did his best to focus on what Cas was saying. "What?"

He looked over at the angel, who was resting on his side. Cas's hair was sticking up every which way, and there were a few new hickeys standing out against his pale skin. "Did you mean what you said in the crypt?"

Dean frowned. "What, you think I was lying?"

"No. No, I…" Cas struggled for words. "I never thought you'd actually…" He bit his lip, unable to figure out how to finish the sentence.

"Hey." Dean reached over, cupping the back of Cas's neck and drawing the angel to him. "It might take a lot for me to say it, and I might never say it again, but I meant it. I meant everything."

Cas kissed him, his gigantic smile making the kiss sloppy. "I love you too," he whispered.

Dean wound his arms around Cas and kissed him back.

* * *

"I'm home!" Amelia called.

"In the kitchen!" Sam replied.

"Just talked to Kevin," Adam said, entering the kitchen. "He's on his way here to pick up the angel tablet."

"Great. Where are Dean and Cas?"

"Dean thought Cas was dead, where do you think they are?"

"Whatever happened to Meg and Bela?"

"Left. Meg said she'd be in touch."

"Did Monday re-establish those anti-demon wards?"

"Not yet."

"Well, grab her." Sam finished chopping up the tomatoes. "She should be recovered enough to fix those up."

"Guys." Monday hurried into the kitchen. "They're here."

"Angels or demons?" Sam asked, gripping his knife.

"I don't know, it feels the same for either."

"Where?"

Krissy appeared behind Monday, looking annoyed. "For an injured person you sure move fast," she complained.

"What's wrong?" Amelia asked, setting the groceries down.

"Monday's sensed a demon or angel," Sam replied. "Grab the salt."

Amelia smiled at him and Sam froze. That was not Amelia's smile. "Alex, I'll take demons for five hundred," she said, her eyes flicking black.

Sam reeled back, automatically reaching for the holy water only to find himself flung back and pinned against the wall. Adam tried to come to his aid and was thrown back all the way to the beginning of the bookshelves, crashing into them and collapsing without a sound. Sam figured he was unconscious. Monday sprinted towards the entrance of the bunker to begin restoring the anti-demon measures. The demon in Amelia's body raised her hand at Monday, trying to get at her, but Monday was wearing her ever-present safety hex bag and nothing happened.

The demon growled. "I'll deal with her later."

"Get out of her," Sam threatened.

"But why? I like this one." The demon smiled. "Not at all like my old body, I'll admit. But then, I think I was the only blonde you ever had a thing for. You've got a real thing for brunettes."

Sam could see Krissy dropping to the floor and quietly moving along it, making her way to the cupboard where the salt and holy water was kept. "What are you talking about?" He asked the demon.

The demon cocked her head. The action looked so unnatural coming from Amelia. "You don't remember me, Sammy?" She clucked her tongue. "And here they say you never forget the one that got away."

Sam tried to fight against the supernatural hold pinning him to the wall, but it wasn't any use. He could dimly hear Monday's chanting as she restored the anti-demon measures, but she had to restore them one at a time, and it would take time. Behind Amelia's back, Krissy reached the cupboard.

"None of that, cutie pie," the demon said, flicking her wrist. Krissy was slammed against the counter and fell to the floor, blood trickling from her forehead.

"Hey!" Monday shouted, and a pot picked itself up from the stovetop and flung itself at the demon's head. The demon wasn't even fazed, letting the pot smack her and fall to the ground without so much as flinching.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," the demon went on, stepping closer to Sam. "Stuck down there in Hell for centuries of pain. Even when I agreed to turn the knife on others, the pain didn't go away. It never fully goes away." She was barely an inch away from Sam now, and she brought her hand up to brace it against the wall as she leaned into him. "And do you know who sent me there?" Her smile grew vicious. "You."

Sam caught sight of a tattoo on Amelia's wrist—a tattoo he'd had to bear once, when Meg possessed him. Exorcising wouldn't work, not unless they burned the tattoo.

"Me?" He said, stalling for time. Where the hell were Dean and Cas? Surely they'd have heard the racket by now.

"You," the demon repeated. "You sent me to Hell by letting me die."

"Look, I don't know who you are, but—"

"You knew I was going to die!" The demon screamed. "You knew it, but you never warned me! You lied to me, Sam. You didn't tell me the truth about who you were, where you'd come from. You left me defenseless and you let me be gut like a pig on the ceiling of our apartment!"

Sam's blood ran cold. "Jess?"

The demon laughed, throwing Amelia's head back. "Now he remembers. Is that all you remember about me, Sam? My gruesome demise?" Her tone was mocking.

"No." Demon or not, Sam wasn't letting Jess think that about him. "I mourned you. I mourned you for years!"

"Sure you did," Jess replied.

Monday kept chanting in the background, slowly restoring the anti-demon measures. Krissy and Adam were both still out cold.

Jess took another step so that she was pressed right up against Sam. Her grin grew. "She's screaming in here, you know," she purred. "You picked a feisty one this time."

"Get out of her," Sam growled.

"It's payback time, Sam," Jess whispered. "We're going to have _loads_ of fun."

"Sammy!"

Dean wrapped his arms around Jess, yanking her back. Jess screamed and struggled, and Sam wondered how Dean was able to hold her until he caught a flash of Dean's palms.

His brother had drawn devil's traps on the palms of his hands. He was now pressing them against the demon, forcing her to stay pressed against his chest where the anti-possession tattoo—a part of which was a devil's trap—was, effectively holding her.

"She's got that tattoo, the one Meg gave me," Sam said. "You have to burn it off."

"Cas, get a poker and make it hot!" Dean called.

"Wait!" Amelia cried. She lifted her head and Sam saw that her eyes were normal. "Sam—I don't—she's fighting—" Amelia doubled over but managed to keep control. "She did something—she said we're bound—I'm, she's, she's bound to my soul."

"That's not possible," Dean replied.

"What did she say?" Monday called.

"She said the demon is bound to her soul!" Dean shouted.

"But that's—that's an old god trick!" Monday replied.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Cas appeared with the red-hot poker at the ready.

"Old Gods like to keep the same mortal form for a long time, because it's hard to find one that will hold them. But sometimes they need to take a vessel on the fly, so they bind themselves to the person's soul. It's also how a lot of them accept human sacrifices."

"Can demons do it?"

"Not that I know of," Cas answered.

"But an old god could do it for the demon," Monday added.

"Is there any way to fix it?" Sam asked.

Monday shook her head.

Sam looked at Amelia. Her eyes flicked black, and then normal again. "I can't hold her off," she admitted. "Do what you need to do."

Dean and Cas exchanged a look, and Cas set down the poker, lifting his palm. "No," Sam protested. "There has to be another way!"

"She's going—the things she wants to—" Amelia groaned, doubling up in pain again. "Do it!"

Sam tried to fight the grip Jess was still managing to keep on him. "Dean, there has to be another way."

"We won't have time to figure out another way, Sam," Dean pointed out. The longer a demon possessed a human, the less likely it would be that the human survived the encounter.

Kill her now or exorcise her later, Amelia was doomed.

"No." Sam kept struggling. "I'm not losing you."

"It's okay." Amelia said. Her eyes were wet but she made herself smile. "It's okay, Sam."

Dean nodded at Cas, who raised his palm again.

"I love you," Sam burst out. "I love you."

Amelia doubled over again, and when she looked up her eyes were black. "And how many girls have you said that to, Sam?" Jess sneered.

Castiel pressed his palm to Amelia's forehead.

There was a bright light, and the scream of the demon, and then silence.

Cas stepped back, and Dean gently set down the body in his arms, laying it onto the floor.

Sam fell to the ground, no longer held against the wall by the demon. Across the room Adam groaned and struggled to stand up, blinking dazedly. Monday sprinted down the stairs, wincing at the pain from her chest, and hauled the unconscious Krissy into her lap, checking for damage.

Sam knew it was useless, but he felt for Amelia's pulse. He tried not to look at her face. Instead, his eyes drifted downwards, toward her left hand.

He didn't realize he was crying until he felt Dean's arms around him, and he realized that he was shaking all over. He had a sudden flashback to when he was little and had awful nightmares, and Dean would crawl into bed with him and hold him until he fell back asleep.

_It's okay, Sammy,_ Dean would say. _It's just a dream. It's not real. I'm here. I'll take care of you._

Dean couldn't say it was just a dream now. It was all too real. But he held his brother as if they were still kids and he still had the power to make the bad things go away.

"It's okay, Sammy," he said. "I'm here. I'll take care of you."

* * *

He wanted to bury her.

Sam had no intention of selling his soul or anything, but he wanted her buried. Just in case. But Dean reminded him that Amelia had wanted to be cremated, even before she'd been introduced to the hunting life—and she was a hunter. She deserved the proper hunter burial, and she deserved to have her wishes respected.

He left the engagement ring on her finger. He couldn't even look at it without feeling sick.

He'd always assumed that Jess had gone to Heaven. She'd certainly deserved it for the way she'd died, and she'd been a good person before that, too. Top grades, volunteered at the local shelter, cared about the environment, was president of the LGBT club, loved her parents. Sam had often said to his friends at Stanford that Jess was too good to be true.

And she'd still ended up in Hell.

Was that a part of Azazel's plan? When he'd killed Jess had he dragged her down to the Pit as well?

He should've made Amelia get an anti-possession tattoo. He shouldn't have let her go out alone.

He should've saved her.

The others went inside after a while, but Sam kept watching the pyre long after the flames died away and there was nothing left but ash.

* * *

They gathered in Dean and Cas's bedroom, just in case Sam came down while they were discussing things. Dean leaned against the doorframe, Cas stood facing the bed, Adam took the foot of the bed, and Monday and Krissy sprawled across the rest of the bed. Krissy was lying back against the pillows, while Monday had opted to use Krissy's lap as a pillow instead, letting the other girl run her fingers through her hair.

"How long have you suspected this?" Castiel asked.

"Since I met him," Monday replied.

"And you're sure about this," Dean said.

"Positive."

"It makes sense," Adam said.

"But how?" Dean said. "How could he have pulled off lying to Hell, to Heaven, and who knows how many humans he suckered?"

"He's a smooth talker, and one of the oldest and most powerful of the old gods," Monday said.

"How did you realize he wasn't a demon?" Cas asked.

"I knew that you were coming," Monday said. "I felt it, because you're an angel. I didn't realize it at the time, but I didn't feel anything when he arrived. And I recognized the hellhounds—invisible monsters—as what killed my mother."

"And you think he took Jess under his wing? Did the soul-binding thing for her?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Monday nodded—or nodded as best she could, given that she was lying sideways on Krissy's lap. "That's why the old gods are moving now, why the one I killed in the corn maze had suddenly gone on his rampage. He's the King of Hell. He commands legions of demons. Heaven's in disarray. It's the perfect time."

"He must've sent Jess to get at Sam and Adam," Dean said. "They're the ones closing the Gates. Well, Adam is, Sam's helping."

"If Jess had killed them, the Gates would have remained open," Cas said.

"So what do we do?" Adam asked. "We don't even know what the old gods' plans are."

"Let's focus on closing the Gates," Dean said. "If we do that, we rob them of their demon army. We can work from there."

"What's going on?"

Everyone turned to see Sam standing in the doorway. His eyes were puffy and red and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, even though it had only been half a day since Amelia had died.

"Crowley sent Jess after you," Dean said. "We think she was supposed to kill you and Adam."

"Crowley?" Sam appeared puzzled. "But Monday said an old god had to help Jess with the binding."

"Crowley is an old god," Monday said. "He's Dumuzi—or that's one of his names, anyway—and he's one of the most powerful gods out there."

"What?"

"And that's not all," Dean said. "He's the one planning the old god uprising, Sam. He's trying to take over the world."


	17. Stealing Happiness

**It started as a partnership, a way to get out. It grew into something much more.**

* * *

The cell door slammed shut. At first she thought it was Crowley because, hello, it's not like she got many visitors. But then she realized that it wasn't _her_ door—it was the one next door. There's another prisoner.

Well, this just got interesting.

It's a human, and a woman as well. She stayed unconscious for a good long while (fucking newbies who didn't know how to torture without going too far), so Meg had to resort to other means of learning the woman's identity. It took about two weeks of hint dropping and information gathering to discover that her new next-door-neighbor tried—and almost succeeded in—escaping Hell.

Oh. This, this is good.

Meg studied the human in the cell next to her. She had light brown hair that might have been healthy once, but was now thin and limp. Her eyebrows had a high arch and her cheekbones were well defined. She didn't open her eyes too much but when she did, Meg could see that they were a light hazel, and had an intense, blazing look that made it seem like the human was staring _through_ instead of _at_ something. She seemed in good shape, and was maybe an inch taller than Meg.

It was a bit of a long shot, but anyone who got close enough to escaping from the Pit to warrant a private cell in Crowley's personal complex must have a few good tricks up their sleeve. And it wasn't like Meg had a lot to lose at this point.

"Hey." Meg bumped her head against the bars that separated her from her new neighbor. She really couldn't be bothered to move her limbs.

The human turned her head slowly, almost disinterestedly. "What?" She demanded grumpily.

"Rumor mill has it you almost made it out of the Pit," Meg said.

"The rumor mill always has something. Last week it claimed the Old Gods were rising again, and next week it'll have a whole theory about Crowley going to see whatshername," the human replied.

"Naomi; one of the top-tier angels. Nasty piece of goods, and that's not a compliment." Meg smiled, showing her teeth. "I have it on good authority she and ol' King Cole here were fuck buddies back in the Mesopotamia days."

"Whatever." The human turned away again.

"Hey," Meg called out. The human turned back to her, those eyebrows arching even higher. "How far did you get?"

The human smiled, her eyes gleaming. Meg knew that look—it was the look of rebellious triumph. "Only one level away from the Gates, beautiful."

Meg gave her a respectful nod. "Not too shabby."

"And you? What'd you do, bite the sausage?"

Meg laughed. She hadn't been forced to her knees yet but she knew it happened. She'd done it to a few souls herself when she was in charge of them.

"Not exactly," she replied. "Metaphorically, maybe."

The human scooted closer. "So what'd you do?"

For one wild instant Meg considered not telling her. She could pass herself off as human; she fooled the entire staff of the mental hospital for six months while she looked after Castiel. It would be laughably easy.

But now she had an image of Castiel in her mind. Damn angel. He knew she was a demon and he went ahead and liked her anyway. Maybe this human would be the same.

"I'm a demon, actually." Meg flashed a suitably devilish grin.

To her shock, the human didn't appear impressed or perturbed.

"And what's your name? Salome?" The woman asked.

Merg smirked in spite of herself. "Good guess. Call me Meg."

"Seriously? I just spent ten years surrounded by Jezebels and Jehorams and you're telling me your name is Meg?"

"My name is whatever I want it to be. Perks of being a soulless shape-shifting agent of malevolence," Meg drawled. "You can be whoever and whatever serves your purposes."

"I'll keep my soul, thanks." The woman grinned. "What's left of it, anyway."

Meg smiled lazily. "So what's your name, beautiful?" She asked, throwing the woman's words back at her.

"Bela Talbot." She stuck her hand through the bars. "I procure objects for a select clientele. Or did, anyway. Nice to meet you, Meg."

Meg shook the proffered hand. "I wouldn't pass judgment so quickly," she warned her.

"You're the first being I've met here who hasn't brandished a whip at me," Bela replied. "I call that nice."

"Who says I wasn't planted here to earn your trust and pump you for information?" Meg drawled.

"I don't," Bela replied. Her gaze met Meg's and held it. "Are you?"

Meg shook her head slightly. "And what makes you think I won't lie?"

Bela's lips curled upwards at the corner. "Because I know a brave face when I see one. You're as much a prisoner as I am."

Meg tipped her head back against the wall. "Pretty good," she acknowledged. "Beautiful," she added with a smirk.

There was the sound of footsteps and a demon appeared. "The King of Hell will see you now," it intoned, opening the door to Meg's cell.

"You boys really have to learn that's not impressive the 500th time you've said it," Meg replied, hauling herself to her feet with a lurch. The demon grabbed her before she even had a chance to take a step on her own, dragging her down the corridor to where Crowley and his instruments awaited.

Something made her turn her head back towards the cells as she was led away, and she caught a glimpse of Bela before she was lost to sight. The woman was staring wide-eyed at Meg, her face pale. It was easy to read her thoughts.

_That's right, beautiful. We turn on each other, too,_ Meg thought bitterly. What had happened to the days of partnership, the days of solidarity, the days of watching each other's back? Dead with Lucifer, she supposed. But then, what else could be expected?

They were demons, after all.

* * *

Meg wouldn't have given much thought to Bela, but the human turned out to be her only companion that wasn't out to get her, and after a few weeks (or day or years, who knew down in the Pit) Meg found Bela was starting to grow on her a little. The thief was well-read and educated, with a biting sense of humor and a sophistication that Meg hadn't seen since the golden age of Hollywood. She'd made a hell of a lot of deals with those starlets back in the day.

After a time, Bela explained how she'd nearly gotten out. In return, Meg told her about the machinations of Hell. Eventually they told each other their life stories. Meg knew that Bela didn't deserve to be in Hell—she'd made the deal when she was fourteen after all—but it wasn't unusual for innocent people to wind up down here. The system hadn't been fair for a while.

It was interesting to learn they had the Winchesters in common.

"Dean worked on me," Bela drawled. Meg had to admit, that accent did things to her. "It was so tempting to say yes and be the one to turn the knife on him. It turns out he was the motivation for my escape. I didn't want to sink like he did."

"He got out," Meg informed her.

"He did?"

Meg filled her in on all that had happened since the Righteous Man had been rescued from Hell. Meg knew she'd be a little behind the times, seeing she'd been stuck as Crowley's personal chew toy for a good long while, but Bela was way out of the loop.

They'd been prisoner companions for about a month or so when Abaddon came for her.

Back before the Knights of Hell were killed, Abaddon had been the one to go to for information. She knew everything and everyone, and she'd help a lesser demon out when they were in a tight spot. Meg had usually assisted Azazel with his plans, but sometimes she'd gotten in a little over her head or run into something unexpected, and Abaddon had been the one she'd counted on to help her and not tattle to anyone. Lilith was a good resource too, and everyone owed fealty to her, but she'd been manipulative. Played Meg and Ruby off each other, for one thing, not that Meg had quite realized it at the time.

Meg wondered, idly, what Lilith would think of her actions—taking care of an angel, rebelling against Crowley, and all the rest. She'd become prone to reminiscing these past few months; not like she could really do much else.

In the time since the First Demon's demise, Meg had gone from constantly anxious about doing things Lilith's way to pretty much not caring. Not that she'll ever be as rebellious as Ruby, the stupid, stupid bitch. What'd she have to go and fall in love with a human for? A fucking _Winchester_ no less, for Satan's sake. If she hadn't been so fucking stupid she'd still be alive, still her partner, still her sis—

Don't go there. Don't go there. She'd cried too many tears over that bitch already.

Not that Lilith had cared. Always making it blatantly obvious that Ruby was the favorite, choosing Ruby as her apprentice over Meg (not that Azazel hadn't been a great mentor), never a word of praise—but when Ruby died it was like she'd never existed as anything other than an afterthought.

Well fuck Lilith. Fuck her mind games, and fuck her favoritism. Hell was full of cunts but Lilith was one cunt they were better off without.

Abaddon, though—Meg owed her a few dozen times over. Abaddon was a straight shooter; a warrior, not a politician. What you saw was what you got.

So when Abaddon appeared in the cell in all her Knight of Hell glory, Meg was ready to follow her anywhere.

"You're supposed to be dead," she said.

Hey, she was a demon. That meant evil, not stupid.

"Reports of my death were widely exaggerated," Abaddon replied, picking the lock on Meg's cell. "What has that salesman done to this place?"

"A lot, unfortunately," Meg replied. She could sense Bela stirring awake in the cell next to them, watching the proceedings with sleepy cat eyes.

Abaddon made a _tsk_ noise. "I should be ruling this place."

"Where have you been?"

"Some uppity secret society found the demon tablet and want to close the Gates. I'm working on it." Abaddon sprung the lock and opened the door. "I could use your help."

Meg stood and made her way to the front of the cell. "You're springing me free?"

"You were Azazel's second in command. Lucifer's granddaughter, so to speak." Abaddon smiled, or what passed for a smile on her true face. "You and I are the only ones left of the old guard. I say we take back what's ours."

Get revenge on Crowley? Reclaim Hell and restore it to its former glory?

Meg smiled. "I'm with you. Let's kill the king."

Abaddon gestured for Meg to follow her, but Meg paused. She looked over at Bela, still watching them. The human's expression was unreadable.

"You know, I'd do better with a partner," Meg said, keeping her tone casual.

Abaddon glanced over at Bela. "She's a human," the Knight pointed out. "She hasn't even started the process of becoming a demon. Her soul is still pure."

"And think how useful having a human will be," Meg replied, leaning against Bela's cell door.

She felt a sudden pressure at her hand and tried not to yank it away, remaining where she was. She realized, after a moment, that Bela had grabbed her hand and was nuzzling into it with her cheek. It was a pleasant feeling, but not something Meg had expected Bela to do in a million years. The human was too proud and controlling to become submissive to someone else like that.

And then Meg realized what Bela was doing.

Meg rotated her hand and speared her fingers into Bela's hair, massaging gently at the scalp. Bela made a tiny whining noise and turned wide, pleading eyes up to Meg. "Don't leave," she whispered, voice wavering.

Abaddon's grin was wicked. "Oh, that's how it is?"

Meg slid her hand down to cup Bela's chin, tilting the human's face up so that Bela's neck was exposed. Bela made another whimpering noise and tried to press herself more against whatever part of Meg she could reach through the cell bars. Meg let her fingers trail down the column of Bela's throat. She could kill the human in a second if they were up on earth in human bodies, and even now in Hell she could still strike and cause Bela unimaginable pain.

"You know you can have whatever human you want up there," Abaddon pointed out, her voice almost bored.

"I just got this one trained," Meg replied. "And she's got a lot of connections on the surface."

Abaddon glanced down at Bela, who continued to gaze up at Meg with wet, guileless eyes. After making a sound of annoyance, the Knight strode over and opened Bela's lock. Bela scrambled out and positioned herself at Meg's feet, smiling like this was the greatest thing that had ever happened to her.

"Let's go," Abaddon said, turning to head out.

Bela's face immediately dropped all joy and she stood up, making a gagging face. Meg held up a warning finger. They'd have to keep up the pretence until Abaddon got them back to earth. Bela nodded in understanding, and they followed the Knight of Hell out.

* * *

Abaddon deposited them at Bela's grave so that they could raise her properly. Usually only angels could do something like that, as Ruby had once told Sam Winchester, but the Knights of Hell had been endowed by Lucifer with a few extra abilities.

Meg dug up the grave as best she could, but Bela still had to do a lot of clawing on her own. She gasped for breath as her head broke the surface, her lungs working for the first time in five years. Meg grabbed her hand and hauled her the rest of the way out, the two of them collapsing onto the grass.

It felt so good to be back on earth, back with fresh air to breathe, sunlight to bask under, and grass to lie against—to be away from the darkness and smoke, the pain and endless sound of screams.

"Why did you save me?"

Meg rolled onto her side and cracked an eye open to stare at Bela. She looked a lot better now that she was in her (healed) body—her skin was thick and shiny and her skin and eyes practically glowed.

Meg shrugged. "I had my fill of carrying out someone's assignments on my own. I've been a free agent for years. You're fun, so I thought I'd let you tag along." She grinned, feeling the skin of her meatsuit stretch at the action. She'd grown quite attached to this body. "Nice acting back there."

"Ugh. Don't remind me." Bela rolled her eyes.

"Aww, you don't like being the sub?"

Bela chuckled and sat up. "If either of us is going to be submissive, it's you."

Meg ignored the little shiver her body gave at Bela's tone. "All right, master thief. Let's go."

Meg stood and stretched, then put two fingers to her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. "Bit-Bit!"

There was the sound of paws thudding on the ground, and a hellhound galloped into view, tongue lolling and eyes blazing. Meg held her arms out and crouched down. "There's my precious boy!" She cried.

Bela scrambled back, hearing but not seeing the creature. "Is that?"

"Yup. A hellhound." Meg buried her fingers into Bit-Bit's fur, letting the hellhound lick her face. "Who's my good boy? You is! You is! You is such a good boy for Mommy!"

"I don't understand," Bela said. "I've never seen one loyal to a single person before."

"They aren't, usually," Meg said. "Crowley has one, and I have one, but I don't know of anyone else. Casey, this one demon I knew, used to watch Bit-Bit for me when I was off on missions for Azazel, but after she and her lover died I had to leave him to fend for himself a bit. But he's such a clever boy, isn't he?" She cooed. "Such a clever boy!"

"May I?" Bela asked, stretching her hand out hesitantly.

"Of course. My friends are Bit-Bit's friends." Meg wrapped her arms around Bit-Bit's neck and nuzzled her face into his fur. "Go on."

Bela scooted forward and tentatively stuck out her hand for Bit-Bit to sniff. The hellhound bumped his nose against Bela, sniffing her, before darting his tongue out and licking her hand. Bela stayed perfectly still, eyes wide as she let the hellhound sniff and lick her, learning her scent.

"Good boy," Meg cooed. She nodded at Bela. "You try."

"G-good boy?" Bela said. "Good boy."

Meg let go of Bit-Bit and the hellhound padded forward, sniffing at Bela's neck and licking her cheek. Bela gave a husky little laugh. "You're quite friendly, aren't you?"

"Like I said—my friends are his friends." Meg grinned, watching as Bela scratched behind the hellhound's ears. "The thing about hellhounds is, they're created to be loyal. Generally this means Hell, so any demon and the ruler of Hell especially, but every once in a while they pick a specific demon to call master. And when that happens—well, you won't find any creature more devoted."

Bela laughed again as Bit-Bit slobbered all over her. Playing with the hellhound she suddenly looked so young, and Meg remembered that Bela had only been twenty-four when she'd been taken to Hell. Sure, she'd spent a few centuries down in the Pit but essentially Bela had most of her life ahead of her.

It caused an ache in her chest, one that Meg wasn't familiar with.

"Come on," she said, holding out her hand. "We'd better get going."

Bela slipped her hand into Meg's and let the demon haul her up. The human's skin felt soft, and Meg found she had a hard time letting go.

* * *

"So, Azazel," Bela said, lounging on the motel bed. "He was your father, right?"

"In a way," Meg said, frowning when she saw what Bela was wearing. They were a couple months into their time on earth, completing assignments for Abaddon (which basically consisted of undermining Crowley's control of Hell and the demons), and Meg still wasn't used to how damn sexy Bela always insisted upon dressing.

Like right now, wearing that skimpy black little number that left _very_ little to the imagination.

Dammit, she was trying to do the right thing here! The least Bela could do was make it easier.

"In a way?" Bela asked, taking a swig from the liquor bottle. They'd let their sticky fingers get them a few bottles of the good stuff at a liquor store a few miles back, and both of them were already a little tipsy.

Meg sat down on the opposite motel bed, drinking from her own bottle. She was wearing boy shorts and a tank top like a sensible person, not a walking advertisement for lingerie. "He wasn't my father biologically, but he took me under his wing when I became a demon. Alastair turned me, of course, but I didn't have an interest in staying in the torture business so that's when Azazel took me in. I could've been Lilith's apprentice, but she chose Ruby."

"Ruby?"

"My sister."

"Your actual sister?"

"No." Meg lay back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had all been so long ago. "She was in the same coven as I was, back in the Middle Ages. When Astaroth took our souls to Hell, we went at the same time."

"I didn't think you remembered being human," Bela admitted, sitting up.

"I don't. Not really. Ruby did more than me—it's part of why she was sent to seduce Sam. I could've managed it too," Meg added. She grinned. "In all honesty, I would not have minded riding that horse."

Bela gave a throaty laugh. "I wouldn't have minded either of those boys, honestly, although I admit it would've been easier to seduce Sam."

"Seriously? Mr. Romance? Mr. White Knight in Shining Armor?"

"Oh, you're forgetting how determined Dean and I were to hate each other," Bela reminded her. "He even refused my offer of hate sex."

"I can't see anyone refusing to have sex with you."

"Oh?"

Meg felt her face growing hot. Fuck. "Um, anyway, so Ruby remembered what it was like to be human. I didn't. I knew that I had been human, but the actual feel of it, the emotions and sensations—I'd forgotten that. She didn't."

Bela hummed and drank some more.

"Azazel was a good father. I guess." Meg frowned, taking another drink. "I don't remember having a father when I was human so I can't compare it to anything. But he loved me, in his own way. He looked after me." She took another drink. "More than I can say for Lilith."

"She was Lucifer's second in command, right?" Bela asked, her bottle already half empty. "She held my contract, you know."

"Yup. You told me." She was beginning to feel a little buzzed. It took a lot to get either demons or angels drunk, but she'd long ago learned a trick for letting her meatsuit's senses take over to allow her to feel drunk much sooner. "She was a right bitch."

"Wow, don't mince your words there. Tell me how you really feel."

Meg laughed. "No, but really. She'd—she'd play me and Ruby against each other. We used to be so close, y'know? And then she had to go and fall in love with Sam Winchester, I mean of all the fucking things…" She took another swig and set the bottle down. "And you know how I had to find out? From Crowley. Fucking Crowley."

She dimly registered Bela moving off the bed, but she was too caught up in the memories to care. "I lost my whole family to those Winchesters. My dad, my brother—another demon Azazel looked raised—Ruby, even Lilith. Lilith. Y'know, when I was possessing Sam and I got all inside his head, I saw his thoughts about everyone he knew. He had this adorable little crush on this girl, Jo Harvelle. I used that to my advantage. But the stuff I saw about his dad? I just thought, that's me and Lilith. The First One is no better than John fucking Winchester." She laughed, feeling a little out of control.

"We were too close," she said. "Ruby and me. Couldn't even see that we were on the same side, wanted the same thing. Lilith and Azazel, they knew the plan. Never told it to us. This whole time I thought Ruby was a traitor—you know what the last thing I said to her was?"

She looked up and found that Bela was kneeling on the floor in between Meg's legs, hands on Meg's knees. "What?" She asked.

"I said she was a fucking whore. Told her she wasn't my sister and I'd never loved her, and I might be demon scum but even I was better than she was." Meg tried to laugh again but failed. "I spat in her face. My sister's face. And then she died and I learned the truth and—and I…"

Bela tilted her head. "You know, I never believed in anything," she said. "I never had faith." She reached her hand up and tucked some of Meg's hair behind her ear. "Even when I made a deal for my soul, I didn't truly believe or worship anything. But you, you believed. In Satan, but at least it was something."

"I was a zealot. And now I have no cause."

"We'll find another cause for you." Bela smiled. "I think it's amazing."

"What?"

"Your faith. Your—your everything." Bela laughed. "I'm not incredibly articulate right now, am I?"

"You just said 'incredibly articulate'."

Bela's face grew serious. "You know, when you said you couldn't imagine anyone refusing to have sex with me…"

Meg tried to stay very, very still.

"Does that include yourself?"

She had a sudden sympathy for deer caught in the headlights of a car.

Bela slid—Lord below, she _slid_ up Meg's body, her lips brushing against the shell of Meg's ear. Meg kept her hands firmly on the bed. Bela was drunk. She was drunk. This couldn't be good.

"You don't have to hold back," Bela whispered, running her hands up Meg's thighs. "I'm a big girl, you know."

Meg felt like she was hanging on to a very thin, very frayed rope while hanging over the edge of a precipice.

Bela's lips were right at her ear. "Touch me," she commanded, her voice so soft it was barely there.

The rope snapped.

Meg hauled her up onto her lap, letting Bela wrap her legs around her waist as her hands slid up to cup her face, holding her in place so they could kiss. She'd been imagining what Bela tasted like for weeks, secretly taking a few extra minutes in the shower to imaging what her mouth would feel like. Now she knew. Bela kissed like it was going out of style, her tongue curling and stroking with confidence, like she knew not only how to take Meg apart, but she was going to do it in the way she pleased.

"It's not fair," Bela grumbled, yanking Meg's shirt over her head. "Looking like that wearing your ratty shirts. It's not natural."

"Have you _seen_ yourself?" Meg replied. She dug her fingers into that damn silky nightgown, twisting the fabric as she ran her mouth over Bela's skin. The human's pulse jumped underneath her touch, fluttering just underneath the skin, and wherever her lips went Bela flushed pink. She latched onto the thin skin right at her collarbone and sucked, making Bela moan and arch against her. Meg hummed and kept sucking at different spots, scraping her teeth along the skin, seeing what made Bela squirm.

She felt two hands at her shoulders and suddenly she was shoved back onto the bed so violently that she bounced against the mattress. Bela slipped off her nightgown and Meg nearly swallowed her tongue. Damn woman wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Fuck me," Meg muttered, trying to take in the sight of all that creamy skin.

"That's the plan, darling," Bela purred, smiling like the Cheshire cat. Her long, silky hair brushed and slid over Meg's chest and stomach as Bela lowered her head, scraping her teeth along Meg's hipbone. Meg squeezed her eyes shut, trying not lose it too quickly. Her body trembled with the effort of keeping still as Bela hooked her fingers into her boy shorts, pulling them down her legs. Bela nuzzled into the skin at her inner thigh and Meg's hips bucked.

"Have a little patience," Bela said, the words muffled as she mouthed her way up Meg's legs.

Meg tried to give a snappy retort, but all the came out was some garbled moaning. Bela kept getting close to where Meg wanted her, but always just skipped over it, her nails digging into her hips, keeping her from moving again.

"Fuck, Bela, if you don't—_fuck_!"

Bela, apparently, had a thing for timing, because she waited until that moment to scrap her teeth against Meg's clit. Meg clawed at the sheets, figuring it was better to tear those up then pull out Bela's hair, nearly biting her tongue in half from trying not to scream and make the neighbors come knocking.

Bela hummed, and Meg got a glimpse of a wet, pink tongue before she felt it, delving in and driving her insane, making an electric storm start up between her thighs and spark throughout her body, her body shaking like she'd stuck her finger in a socket.

She had, actually, stuck her finger in a socket once.

Long story.

She buried a hand into Bela's hair, tugging lightly, trying to get her to move up—she had to kiss her, touch her, it wasn't fair. Bela ignored her in favor of adding her fingers to the mix, and Meg's hips bucked so violently she nearly whacked Bela with her knee.

"Bela, come on, stop—just let—fuck fuck _fuck_ will you get your ass up here?" Meg demanded, tugging on Bela's hair again. Bela just moaned, the vibrations shooting through her, and crooked her fingers. White lights sparked in the corners of Meg's eyes and she made a sound that, if anyone asked, was definitely not a sob. She'd wanted to get her hands on Bela for weeks and now that she knew her lust was reciprocated, the damn woman wasn't letting her actually do anything. The worst part (and by that she meant the best) was that it felt so fucking good. Bela's scalp had to be hurting by now with how much she was tugging on her hair, and she could hear the sheets rip where she'd been clawing and gripping them with her other hand. Her entire body was on fire like she'd been bathed in holy oil and set aflame, trembling and sweating as she tried to ride out the flames inside of her.

It occurred to her that she was going to have a bitch of a hangover the next morning.

Bela pulled away slightly, her fingers still sliding in and out, curling and pressing, her thumb circling, but her mouth was now free to talk.

"I think I like you like this," Bela said, as if she were a doctor studying a patient instead of slowly making Meg fall apart. "All strung out and desperate for me." A smile slowly spread across her face, like a cat that had just finished licking up a bowl of cream. "You want to touch me, don't you?"

Meg knew if she tried to say anything it would just come out as babbling, so she nodded. Bela's smile grew. "Tell me."

"What?"

"Tell me what you'd do to me."

"I'd—_ah_—you'd, your neck. Your fucking neck. I wanna mark it up," Meg confessed. "Taste every inch of it, leave some bruises. And your br—"

Bela crooked her fingers again and pressed down on Meg's clit with her thumb. Meg choked on her words, her eyes rolling back into her head. She wasn't going to last. She could feel it, building up inside of her, the raging inferno that this current fire couldn't hold a candle to.

Pun intended.

She scrabbled wildly, trying to get a grip on Bela and haul her up, but she dodged her grasp and nuzzled into her thigh.

"You'll get to do all of that," Bela promised. "I'll let you mark me up good and proper. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

A whine escaped the back of Meg's throat.

"But first…"

Bela leaned forward, sealed her mouth around Meg, and bit down on her clit.

Meg's vision went white. She might have screamed—her throat sure felt like she did—but she didn't hear it. She couldn't hear anything. She felt pleasure rush through her body like a tidal wave, consuming everything in its path, making her writhe in its grip. She couldn't breathe, she had no control—she could only hang on for the ride and let the pleasure flood her senses, blocking out everything else.

She dimly became aware of a sensation on her thighs, and she blinked away the last of the dazedness to see Bela delicately licking Meg's skin clean.

She really was like a cat, wasn't she?

Bela must have sensed Meg looking at her, because she stopped what she was doing in order to raise her eyes to Meg's face and smirk. "Gorgeous," she murmured. Her fingers stroked Meg's stomach. "Absolutely gorgeous."

Meg tried to speak, but it came out like _nngh_.

Bela chuckled and slid up Meg's body, spreading her legs so that they straddled Meg's hips. "Now, why don't you show me exactly what you wanted to do to me?"

Meg was more than happy to comply.

* * *

See, this was why Meg didn't let herself get drunk too often. The morning sunlight always tried to kill her afterwards.

She groaned, rolling over and burying her face into her sleeping partner's shoulder. She didn't know what time it was but it was definitely too early to be dealing with horrible things like sunbeams.

Although, this shoulder and the neck it was attached to looked a lot more promising. Meg sucked a bit of skin into her mouth, enjoying the salty taste. The body underneath her groaned and shifted, trying to draw Meg more on top of them. "Lower," a husky, accented voice begged. "Meg, please, lower."

Meg sat up, the better to admire her handiwork, and froze.

Bela.

She was naked, on top of an equally naked Bela, in bed.

Parts of last night slammed into her like a freight train. Talking about Ruby and Lilith, Bela seducing her—she had a sudden vision of Bela's head between her legs and oh God, she wanted to remember more and less all at the same time.

Bela, seemingly unaware of Meg's predicament, flipped her neatly so that she was the one underneath. "I was wondering when you'd get the hint," she said, mouth trailing across Meg's stomach. "Been waiting for weeks for you to do something."

"I—wait—what?" It was very hard to think at the moment. "All those outfits and stuff was on purpose?"

"Do I look like an idiot?" Bela replied. Her fingers were tapping out a rhythm as they inched up the inside of Meg's legs and okay okay okay hold on just a second—

Bela hummed and leaned upwards so they were face to face. "But now we can have some real fun."

She was going to Hell for this (again), but Meg flipped them again and grinned down at her.

"Oh yes. Loads of fun."

She still couldn't remember all of last night, but she had a hazy impression that Bela had been the one in charge then. Meg decided to turn the tables this time.

She kissed Bela as deeply as possible, letting the thief become lost in the kiss, moving their tongues in and out, sealing their lips together. Bela gripped at her shoulders, and moved her legs apart obediently when Meg nudged at them, sinking into the mattress until she was practically boneless with her legs spread wide. Meg began massaging her way down Bela's sides, keeping her touch light and soothing. It felt like Bela was melting against her.

Last night had probably been a bit frenzied, both of them punch drunk from finally getting their hands on each other. This time, Meg wanted to go slowly.

She kept one hand at Bela's hip, her thumb rubbing small, comforting circles while her other hand slipped between them. Bela stiffened as Meg slowly pushed a finger in, but Meg kept kissing her until Bela relaxed again and Meg could slide her finger all the way in. Bela tried clenching around her at first, but eventually she relaxed into Meg's rhythm, humming against Meg's lips. By the time Meg added a second finger Bela didn't even bat an eye, only wrapping her arms more firmly around Meg's upper body.

On the third finger Bela shuddered, a mewl working its way out of her throat. Meg swallowed the sound, nipping at Bela's lips, but she didn't speed up her pace. She kept it slow and deep, twisting her fingers and using her thumb to work Bela's clit until Bela was practically vibrating in Meg's hands. She started kissing Meg a little more frantically, her legs coming up and wrapping themselves around Meg, urging her to go faster.

"You're close, aren't you?" Meg whispered, the words muffled by Bela's lips. Bela mewled again and dug her nails into Meg's back.

"I'm not speeding up," Meg told her, and Bela clenched viciously around her fingers. "But here's what we're going to do." She pressed down hard on Bela's clit and let her eyes go black, her voice deepening. "You're going to come, right now."

Bela's eyes went wide and her entire body shuddered, her lips parting on a silent scream as Meg felt her hand become soaked. Bela's hips rocked down onto Meg's fingers, her body milking the pressure for all it was worth. Bela's eyes closed, which was a pity, but it was still a beautiful sight. Meg smiled, her eyes still black, and knew that this was something she wanted to see over and over again.

"Good girl," Meg purred, kissing the corner of Bela's mouth. Bela gave a pleased little shudder.

"We can do that again, right?" Bela asked, a little breathless.

Meg let her eyes become normal again so that Bela could see her roll her eyes and make her 'duh' face. "Trust me, we'll be doing a lot more of this."

Bela's eyes were catlike slits and her grin was positively wicked.

* * *

Calling them lovers seemed a bit too Harlequin romance for her tastes, but friends with benefits underestimated how deep their friendship had become.

Either way, they were screwing like bunnies—and either way, they weren't discussing it.

Things had gotten awkward at breakfast, each of them unsure what to say to the other, and there'd been a few days of not really talking afterwards. But then they'd gotten another assignment and hit up a motel afterwards and Bela had literally ripped her clothes off.

Literally. She'd had to steal some new ones.

After that, it was kind of a routine. They didn't talk about it, but after every assignment was completed they just went at it. She couldn't help it. Bela was addictive—beautiful in every way, and screamed so prettily when Meg hit a really good spot.

They'd gotten creative, too. There was one especially attractive female bartender they invited back for the night once, and Bela had swiped some silk scarves at one point.

But there was something else there as well; something lurking just underneath that neither of them seemed in any hurry to discuss.

It was there when Meg had pointed out she could possess any human, remarking that she could get a guy or even a different girl if Bela preferred. Bela hadn't said anything, but she'd climbed onto her lap and kissed her frantically, smashing their mouths together any time Meg tried to speak.

Meg hadn't brought that idea up again.

It was there when they'd run into one of Crowley's lieutenants and Bela had nearly been thrown off a water tower. Meg couldn't get her hands on her fast enough, taking her right there in the dirt after cutting the other demon up into a hundred little pieces.

It was there when Meg's eyes had gone black during her climax and she'd tried to apologize, only to find Bela had climaxed herself from watching Meg's eyes turn and the thief had admitted, cheeks pink and eyes downcast, that she found them beautiful.

It was there, but neither of them wanted to admit it.

And then there was the night she nearly died.

Crowley was bringing the heat down on them and they'd been surrounded. She'd gotten a few cuts, yes, and maybe they were enough to kill a human, yes, but that was no need for Bela to flip out.

"You are an idiot!" She screamed as soon as the motel door was shut. "You could have died out there, all because you wouldn't wait for me to back you up!"

Bit-Bit wisely hid himself under the bed. Meg, unfortunately, did not have that option at her disposal.

"Then you would have died!" Meg pointed out.

"But you, you would have—don't you understand—don't you care?" Bela shouted.

"Care about what? Myself?" Meg retorted. "I have nothing, Bela. No god, no father, no whatever Lilith was, no siblings, no friends—I'm dispossessed. I have nothing. So what if I die?"

"You have me!" Bela screamed.

Silence descended, and Meg saw how Bela's chest was heaving, how her eyes were wet and rimmed in red. "Aren't I worth staying alive?" She asked, her voice high and quiet.

"If I'd waited for you to back me up, you would have died," Meg replied. "I can't have that. I just… I can't have that."

Bela strode towards her and Meg braced herself for the slap, but it never came. Instead, Bela wrapped her arms around her neck and kissed her.

"Don't die for me," Bela whispered, her fingers already unbuttoning her shirt. "Don't die for me, please. Live for me."

Meg hadn't had something to live for. Not in years. She'd wanted revenge on Crowley, but that was a hollow thing and she'd known where it would lead her. She wondered if, this whole time, she'd just been seeking out her own death.

"Live for me," Bela begged, her mouth and hands insistent, dragging Meg towards the bed. "God knows you're all I live for now."

"I promise," Meg replied. "I promise, I'll live. I'll live for you."

Bela kissed her everywhere her mouth could reach, her fingers fluttering like trapped butterflies as they danced over Meg's skin. "Take me," she chanted. "Take me, take me, take me."

"I'm trying, have some patience," Meg replied, peeling their filthy clothes off. Ugh, they were going to need a shower after this. The idea of shower sex was tempting, but she was too physically exhausted to deal with the complications that brought up and frankly, she didn't think Bela would last that long.

Meg succeeded in getting their clothes off, no thanks to Bela's wandering hands and distracting mouth, and got ready to lay them down on the bed when Bela turned, rotating so that she was sitting on the bed, her legs spread, while Meg kneeled behind her, Bela's back to Meg's chest.

"Right here," Bela said, grabbing at Meg's wrist and guiding it down. "Just like this."

"Okay, okay sweetheart." Meg wrapped an arm around Bela's waist, her hand coming up to stroke Bela's breast (which, by the way, were fucking amazing, just FYI—she loved it when Bela wore low-cut tops and Meg could see the jealous looks she got—yeah, boys, that rack was all hers). "I've got you. Relax. I've got you."

Bela whined, thrusting her hips up as her head fell back against Meg's shoulder. Her thick hair spilled down Meg's chest and back, the silky strands feeling delicious against Meg's skin. "Please," Bela begged.

Meg realized then just how hard the night had hit Bela. Bela never begged. Meg hadn't even seen her be willingly submissive since they'd pulled that con to fool Abaddon into setting Bela free. Now Bela was practically crying, rocking back into Meg and whispering _please, please_ in a broken voice.

"Just hold on," Meg said, continuing to massage Bela's breasts as she worked her other hand down. God below, Bela was _soaked_.

She raked her finger through Bela's folds and Bela whined again, turning her head to clamp her mouth down on Meg's neck and suck. Meg didn't wait, sliding two fingers in and crooking them in the way Bela loved, searching through the slick to find Bela's clit. Bela groaned, a mouthful of Meg's neck still in her mouth, her hips frantically grinding down onto Meg's fingers.

"That's it," Meg crooned. "I'll take care of you, sweetheart, just let me take care of you."

"Don't ever do that again," Bela said, her voice returning to its usual fierceness. Her hips never stopped their furious rhythm. "You have to live, you have to live with me."

"Yes, I promise," Meg told her, tucking Bela more firmly against her. Fuck but Bela was insanely hot like this, desperate and strung out and still managing to give orders. Her nails were clawing at Meg's forearms and her eyes had rolled back into her head long ago, having since closed as she groaned and whined at Meg. That was unusual too—Meg tended to be the one who screamed and got management to come down and bang on the door, while Bela's noises were few and far between and had to be wrung out of her through patient work (delaying her orgasm for an hour or so usually worked best). Now she moaned and whimpered enough to make a porn star blush. Meg could feel her own wetness slowly sliding down her thighs as she watched Bela become more and more worked up, winding her tightly like a ball of string.

"You're beautiful like this," Meg said, brushing her mouth against Bela's ear. "Someday we'll have to do this in front of a mirror so you can see. Fuck, you're amazing, Bela, amazing and all mine. I'll stay with you, sweetheart. I'll stay as long as you want me. You like that? You like being all mine, like having me touch you like this whenever I want?"

Bela's head rolled back and forth on Meg's shoulder and her entire body shuddered, more wetness escaping her. Geez, Meg's arm was wet all the way up to her elbow. They were going to have a hell of a cleanup job afterwards.

Oh, and apologies to the housekeeping crew.

"I'll always stay with you," Meg promised her, kissing any part of Bela that she could reach. She pinched one of Bela's nipples and Bela cried out, the sound music to Meg's ears. "I'll live for you, sweetheart. You're all mine and I'm all yours. How's that sound?"

Bela let out a heartfelt moan, and Meg smiled. Bela was so fucking wrecked. "So beautiful," she whispered. "You're so beautiful for me."

The words slipped out before Meg could stop them.

"I love you."

She almost reeled back in horror at herself, but Bela let out an almighty scream, her orgasm ripping through her so violently that she nearly made the two of them fall off the bed. (Note to self, do not do this near the edge of the bed again.) She shook so hard, sweat dripping down her body, that Meg had a hard time keeping hold of her. Meg held her as best she could, stroking her and whispering in her ear until Bela collapsed against her, limp as a rag doll.

Meg got them both cleaned up and threw the ruined covers off the bed. She didn't feel the heat or cold anyway, and her human body naturally generated enough heat to keep Bela warm. Besides, it wasn't like it was the dead of winter.

Bela remained mostly unresponsive, completely knocked out by her orgasm, but she curled up happily in Meg's arms, sliding a leg between Meg's and looping her arms around her, nuzzling into Meg's clavicle.

Meg was just thinking she'd dodged the bullet when Bela spoke, her voice thick and slow like honey.

"Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" Meg asked, feigning ignorance.

"What you said about me."

"That you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen when I fuck you? Yeah, I meant that."

She could feel Bela's body go still, and Meg knew she'd taken the coward's way out.

"Remember your promise," Bela said, her voice striking a strange chord.

Meg tightened her grip on Bela. Her eyes suddenly stung and she slammed them shut.

Sleep was a long time coming that night.

* * *

She half expected Bela to be gone when she woke up, but Bela was still sleeping in her arms when morning came.

Didn't mean things hadn't changed.

Bela had grown more quiet, and a bit more reckless in their scuffles with other demons. She had sex differently as well, becoming more violent as she slammed Meg against walls or fucked herself onto Meg's hand. She became more coy, drawing things out until Meg was begging for it, or batting Meg's hands away and forcing Meg to use her demonic strength to hold her down. One time she even tied Meg to the headboard and fucked herself on a dildo, refusing to let Meg touch no matter how much she pleaded.

She started to avoid looking into Meg's eyes.

Meg knew what had caused the change, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. Bela might have embraced Meg's demonic nature but she was still human. She couldn't understand all of what that meant.

It was probably better this way, anyway. Demons didn't get happiness. It certainly wasn't given to them. This thing with Crowley could only end one way eventually. It was better that Bela hate her and leave to live her life then go and get herself killed.

It was better this way.

* * *

She should have seen it coming.

They'd been getting more confident in their abilities—too confident. She should have realized it was only a matter of time before it turned around and bit them in the ass.

They were working an angle outside of Pontiac, when Bit-Bit started growling, haunches raised. They hadn't heard from Abaddon in weeks, not since she'd informed them that somebody was trying to close the Gates of Hell and, as a Knight, she had to see to it. This was supposed to be a quick mop-up, but if Bit-Bit was growling like that it had to be something more. Meg immediately got her blade out, stepping closer to Bela.

"See anything?" She asked.

"Nothing," Bela replied, eyes sharp.

And then a chorus of growls sprang up.

Bela couldn't see them, but Meg could: hellhounds, two dozen of them, standing in a circle around them.

"Bela," she said, keeping her voice low. "Run."

Bela shook her head. "I didn't run the first time, and I am not running now."

"There's too many. Go. I'll buy you some time."

Bela didn't budge. Meg swore under her breath. Damn stubborn humans. Winchesters, Talbots, they were all the same, refusing to save themselves when they had the chance.

One of the hellhounds growled a little louder than the rest and reared back on its haunches. This seemed to be a signal to the others, because they all leaped at once.

In retrospect, as she basically crawled her way to the Winchesters, she'd think that it was just like Crowley to send hellhounds instead of appearing himself. He seemed to prefer to appear only when he knew the playing field was slanted in his favor—or if he had no choice.

But at the moment, Meg had no time for such philosophical notions. She was a little busy fighting for her life.

It took a lot to kill a demon, and a hellhound wouldn't do it. But several hellhounds, now—that would leave a few marks. It still wouldn't kill her, but they would do some damage.

Bit-Bit did his part, tearing into the other hellhounds with ferocity. Meg would never get used to the sight of how her hellhound, fire smoldering in his eyes, would turn against his own kind for her. Bela was fairly competent herself, given her human reflexes were up against the best that Hell could offer, but it was only a matter of time before she went down.

It was on the fourth hellhound.

Meg was fending off two at once, baring her teeth and growling right back at them because she could, when she heard Bela's scream. It was then that she realized how far apart they were—how they'd become separated during the fight, how several hellhounds stood between them. She brought her blade down with haphazard strength, hacking and slashing, trying to reach her.

All she reached was the body.

She clung to it, digging a hand into Bela's long, soft hair, burying her nose into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, clutching as tightly as she dared as if, by sheer strength, she could bring her back. She became smeared with Bela's blood, staining her face and Bela's clothes with her snot and tears, holding the body until it grew cold under her touch.

There was a whine, and Meg realized that Bit-Bit had managed to keep the other hellhounds at bay. Most of them must have returned to Hell with Bela's soul as they dragged it away, and the thought made her clutch at Bela's body so tightly she would have bruised it if she'd been alive.

She had to get Bela back. But she couldn't do it alone—she was Hell's Most Wanted. And Abaddon was still MIA. All of her demon family was dead; there was no one to turn to.

Unless…

Once, long ago, Azazel had created several crypts. Lucifer's Crypts, he'd called them. Unlike the doorways, which when opened allowed the demons to stream out, the crypts were designed to keep things in. He'd taken Meg with him.

She remembered how he'd called her 'precious daughter' and 'sweetling' and petted her hair. She remembered how he'd put his finger to his lips and smiled playfully, their own little secret. She remembered feeling so proud, helping him to hide things and seal the crypts.

And she remembered the tablets he'd stolen.

One for demons and one for angels, written by God (or at least dictated by Him) with the doom of both inscribed upon the stone. A failsafe in case all else crumbled, they told of how to close the Gates and seal the creatures away forever, preventing them from interfering with humanity. Azazel had been an angel once—the angel of death—and he could read part of the writing. There were three trials, he'd said, and one of them concerned rescuing an innocent soul from Hell.

Now, Abaddon had said that someone was going about trying to carry out those trials and close the Gates. In Meg's experience, only two people would dare meddle in the affairs of Heaven and Hell like that.

It was a long shot but they owed her.

Meg hid Bela's body, using black magic to preserve it, and left Bit-Bit to guard it. She didn't bother with healing herself. Powered by her demonic strength, her human body would heal in time. Her health was secondary.

She had to reach the Winchesters.

* * *

Hauling Castiel into the bunker and dealing with Dean's broken heart face wasn't fun by any stretch of the imagination, but it was nothing compared to the fear that clawed at her throat when Adam approached her. She'd put Castiel on the bed in Dean's room while Dean got Sam's new girl to stitch up Monday, and was just leaving the corpse of her friend (fuck you, Castiel was her friend) behind when Adam appeared. He looked haggard.

"Did you get her?" She asked.

Adam gestured down the hall, towards the room where they'd put Bela's body. "See for yourself."

Meg shoved Adam out of the way and hurried down the hall, but at the doorway she froze.

What if Bela didn't want to see her?

She'd told Adam what to tell Bela, but what if she didn't believe it? What if Bela believed it but didn't forgive her?

Well, she certainly wasn't going to get an answer by just standing there.

Meg opened the door.

* * *

They left the bunker right away, not bothering with goodbyes. Meg had never done them before and she didn't see the point now. The only one of them she'd ever really cared about was dead anyway, and she knew Dean would be looking for someone to blame. She was not about to be that someone.

They sprung for a nice hotel room this time instead of their usual cheap motel fare, and Bela literally rubbed her cheek against the bed sheets and sighed with happiness.

"Oh, Egyptian cotton, how I've missed you," she crooned.

Bit-Bit felt a little less at home, curling up in front of the hotel suite's fireplace and eyeing everything with slight suspicion. Meg scratched behind his ears as she made her way past him, and Bit-Bit licked her hand.

"You were such a good boy today," Meg told him. "Mommy will get you some nice dead limbs soon."

Bit-Bit thumped his tail on the floor and panted happily.

Meg turned away from the hellhound to find Bela watching her. "You okay?" She asked.

Instead of answering Bela walked over to her, hips swaying. "More than okay," she said. Her fingers toyed with the bottom of Meg's shirt. She was staring into Meg's eyes for the first time in weeks, their gaze so intense that Meg was glad she didn't need to breathe because at the moment, she couldn't.

"I want—" Bela's breath caught in her throat and she swallowed nervously. "I want you."

Meg leaned forward but Bela put a finger to her lips, stopping her. "I want to make love with you."

"Careful with your choice of words," Meg warned.

"I know what I'm saying."

"You know once you've said it you can't take it back."

"You tried to."

That stung, but it was the truth. "And I was wrong."

"Good. In that case," Bela stepped closer, pressing their bodies together and draping her arms around Meg's neck. "I want to make love with you all night long. I want to feel it for a week. I want to be unable to walk tomorrow morning."

Bela smiled brightly. "How's that sound?"

Meg groaned and kissed her.

She hauled Bela up into her arms, the other woman obligingly wrapping her legs around Meg's waist, and she walked them back to the bed. It felt different this time, like she was made of air and yet filled with something heavy and sweet. They moved differently this time as well, their movements slow and measured. They wrapped arms and legs around each other to the point where Meg felt they were fused together, one being made of sex and pleasure.

They came at the same moment, gasping into each other's mouths.

* * *

"Let's run away," Bela said.

Meg was carding a hand through Bela's hair, as Bela lazily ran her hands and mouth over Meg's breasts. "What?"

Bela looked up. "Let's run away together."

"To where?"

"Europe," Bela said. "Have you ever been?"

"No." She'd lived as a human in England but after her training in Hell she'd only ever been stationed in the United States.

"You'll love it." Bela smiled. "Think of it. I have loads of clients left over there. We'll have all the time in the world to explore it, and think of the fun we'll have stealing. It's a rush like nothing else."

The idea was definitely appealing. "When would we go?"

"Tomorrow, or the next day. As soon as possible."

The more Meg thought about it, the better the idea seemed. Cutting ties with Hell, escaping Crowley and all of her baggage—she'd even be rid of the damn Winchesters.

"Yes," Meg said.

Bela flung her arms around Meg and kissed her so ferociously that Meg began to get wet again. "Thank you," Bela whispered, her thumb stroking Meg's cheek.

Meg held her tightly, gazing up at her. Bela really was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen.

"There's just one last thing I have to do," Meg said.

She had to tell Abaddon.

* * *

They met in a church, because Abaddon liked desecrating holy things and had an acute sense of irony. Meg spun things as best she could, leaving out what parts she could get away with, and hoped that Abaddon would understand.

She didn't.

"And so the dish ran away with the spoon," Abaddon said. "How quaint."

Meg stood still. Provoking Abaddon was the last thing she wanted, and when Abaddon got in one of her moods provoking her could be as simple as blinking the wrong way.

"And what are you going to do when you've had your little honeymoon?" Abaddon asked. "Live the rest of your lives together? So sweet—except for the part where you're a demon and you'll have hunters constantly after you.

"And did you expect to die together? Maybe go to Heaven together?" Abaddon laughed, throwing her head back, her smile splitting her face with its glee. "You can't die, Meg. You can't get to Heaven." Abaddon lowered her head, her eyes piercing and black. "You're a demon, Meg. It's what you are. You can't run away from it. Sooner or later it'll catch up with you. Stay with me and you'll have power the likes of which Azazel could never deliver. You'll be my second in command. Waste your time with her? A frail little human?" Abaddon chuckled. "A waste of talent, first of all, and a death trap if I ever saw one. If a hunter doesn't kill you then she'll do it herself someday."

Meg grit her teeth. It was almost painful to let anyone, even Abaddon, get away with slandering Bela, but getting smart with her wasn't going to help matters.

"You don't have a say in this," Meg said, keeping her voice neutral. "I'm simply informing you. We're leaving tomorrow."

Abaddon's grin slid off her face like oil on water. "Traitor," she spat. "You filthy, gutless little slut!"

Meg didn't flinch.

"You're betraying your people and turning your back on Hell for a human? A mud monkey, a spineless worm?" Abaddon was almost frothing at the mouth. "I expected better from you, Meg. I really did."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Meg replied, letting a bit of sarcasm slip into her tone. She turned and started walking out of the church.

"Enjoy her while you can," Abaddon called after her. "You won't have her for very long. And if you do survive the hunters, well—all humans must die in the end, and you'll be left alone."

* * *

Bela jumped up when Meg entered the room, hurrying over with a beaming smile. "I got us all packed!" She announced, slipping her arms around Meg's waist. "The tickets are bought and everything's settled!"

Her smile faltered as she saw Meg's face. "What's wrong?" She asked.

"I'm not going with you."

Bela's eyes darkened. "Yes, you are."

"Not yet." Meg gently disentangled Bela's arms from around her and led her to the bed, sitting her down. "There's something I have to do first."

"See Abaddon, yes, but you did that."

"No." Meg forced herself to keep looking into Bela's eyes. "I can't be with you. Not like this. Not as a demon." Bela parted her lips to speak, but Meg put a finger to them to shush her. "Don't argue. It's the truth. People will be after me for what I am, and that puts your life in danger. And even if we live a happy life, I can't join you in Heaven. I won't die naturally, and if someone kills me—nobody knows what happens to demons when they die, but you can bet I won't get a halo."

Meg brought Bela's hand up, letting the knuckles brush against her cheek. "I'll join you later, I promise, but I can't come right now. I have to become human first."

"Is that even possible?" Bela asked.

"I hope so." Abaddon would see this as a betrayal, Crowley would still be after her, and she didn't even know if it was possible, but she had to try. The Winchesters had the Men of Letters knowledge at their disposal. If anyone could turn her human, it would be them.

Meg drew Bela's hand to her lips, slowly kissing each knuckle. "I'll join you, I promise."

Bela sat frozen until Meg reached the door, pulling it open. Then she felt Bela's hands grip her, turning her so that Bela could kiss her—desperately, hungrily, like she'd never get the chance again.

"I will join you," Meg promised.

The next morning Bela Talbot traveled first class to Paris.

And Meg made her way to Lebanon, Kansas.


	18. Once More With the Feels

**It's a musical extravaganza! But who ordered the kielbasa?**

* * *

"Okay, so I finished with the demon tablet," Kevin announced.

"Thank God," Monday groaned. She was flopped onto the table, a pile of candy wrappers surrounding her. She'd been helping Kevin with keeping track of notes and translations and they'd been up for the last forty-eight hours. "Next time, can you not do this on your three-day weekend?"

"It's the only chance I had to get away from school," Kevin replied.

Monday just groaned again.

"So what's the final trial?" Adam asked. He was on his sixth cup of coffee, and it showed in his bloodshot eyes and twitching hands.

"You have to turn a demon human."

Monday laughed until she saw Kevin's face and realized he wasn't joking. "Wait—you're serious?"

Kevin nodded. "It says," he grabbed his notes. "You have to 'cleanse the evil and remake the soul anew'. Basically, these trials were about the very nature of Hell. Kill a hellhound, the means by which people end up in Hell. Rescue someone from Hell itself. Take a demon, a creation of Hell, and purify it by turning it human and cleansing its soul. You're giving Hell a giant middle finger at all three stages: getting the soul, torturing the soul, corrupting the soul."

Adam rubbed his forehead. "Okay, so how do I turn a demon into a human? Give it a hug?"

"The Men of Letters were actually working on that," Kevin said, searching through his notes. "Where—"

Monday handed him the notes.

"Thanks. I guess this one priest figured out how to cleanse a demon. The Men of Letters wanted to use it, but it's a long process. They never even got around to testing it before they were massacred."

Adam coughed violently, grabbing a tissue. It came away bloody. "I'll be right back," he told them, standing and going into the bathroom. Once there he cleared his throat and spit into the sink. Black bile and blood swirled down the drain.

Monday and Kevin looked at each other.

"I don't like this," Kevin said.

"Gee, and here I thought everything was sunshine and rainbows," Monday replied. She picked up a Twix bar and bit into it, chewing violently.

"Is there anything you can do?" Kevin asked.

"I can't heal him," Monday replied. "Not through witchcraft, and Castiel says I can heal other people but I've yet to manage it. I couldn't even heal Krissy's paper cut."

"And Castiel already tried healing Adam, I was there," Kevin said. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't like this," he muttered.

"Morning!" Dean said, entering the room. "Sulu, Chapel," he said, nodding to each of them in a parody of Captain Kirk. He paused. "Hey, where's the third Amigo?"

"Bathroom," Monday answered.

"Either vomiting or dealing with a bloody nose," Kevin added.

"Ten bucks says it's vomiting," Monday said. Dean sent her a look and she held up her hands. "What? We can't have a little gallows humor?"

Dean ignored her, pointing at the mugs strewn about the table instead. "How much caffeine have you guys been gulping?"

"Adam's the coffee fiend. I've been having energy drinks," Kevin said, indicating the neatly stacked tower of Monsters and Redbulls.

Monday waved a Reeses' wrapper in the air like it was a flag.

"Right," Dean said. "Monday, no more candy. You'll make yourself sick, angel metabolism or no. I see one more wrapper and I'll put you in a ring of holy fire myself."

Monday buried her face in her arms and flipped Dean off. Dean patted her head in mock sympathy as he made his way over to Kevin.

"So, any news?"

"I figured out the last trial of Hell," Kevin said. "But each tablet—it's like it has a different secret code. The language is the same but the meaning is hidden in a different way. It took me a while but I finally got the first part of the angel tablet translated."

"It only took about two and a half days of nonstop work," Monday quipped.

"And?" Dean asked, ignoring Monday.

"Well, you're in luck." Kevin's tone was just on the border of sarcastic. "Apparently the only one who can close the Gates of Heaven is the Righteous Man pulled from Hell."

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean said.

"Nope."

Adam exited the bathroom, took about five steps, turned green, and took a u-turn right back in. There was the sound of retching and Monday pointed at the bathroom.

"Somebody owes me ten bucks."

"Don't you have to Skype with Krissy or something?" Dean asked.

"Nope. Not until tonight," Monday replied.

Krissy had gotten into a small college (small as in five hundred students tops) that was about an hour outside of St. Louis. She'd registered for the spring semester and had been there for about a week. Dean and Cas had driven her there and helped her to settle in, leaving Sam to hold down the fort.

Sam who, for the record, still spent most of his time in his room and wasn't really speaking to anyone.

"I even got the first trial figured out," Kevin went on. "It's actually pretty simple. You have to convince a cupid to give up its bow."

"Uh… what now?" Dean was not in the mood for dealing with naked angels that liked to hug.

Well, unless it was one specific angel.

Speaking of—

"Cas! Get your tight ass over here!"

"Of course you'd know if it was tight or not," Monday said.

Dean pointed a finger at her warningly. "Holy fire. I'm not kidding."

Castiel walked into the room. The bunker had various anti-angel wards that, although they didn't prevent angels from entering the bunker through the front door, stopped them from zapping themselves in and out, forcing Castiel to walk to wherever he needed to be. Castiel found this bothersome and a waste of time. Dean found Cas's grumpiness hilarious.

"Kev figured out the first trial," Dean said. "Turns out I have to close the Gates."

"I suspected as much," Castiel admitted, "But I had hoped it wasn't true."

"Well, thanks for sharing that with the class there," Dean replied. "Remember that talking thing we discussed?"

"My apologies."

"First trial is Dean has to convince a cupid to give up its bow," Kevin said.

"That sounds like a euphemism," Monday said. "You know, like popping the cherry?"

Castiel blinked. "How do you pop a—"

"Change of subject!" Dean said loudly.

Monday muttered something that sounded like _ask Dean he popped yours_ but shut her mouth when she saw Dean glaring at her. She smiled innocently. "What?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay. Cas and I will head out in a minute to find a cupid. I gotta check on Sam."

"Make him eat something," Monday said. "I left a sandwich at his bedroom door yesterday like you asked and he hasn't touched it."

"You never make me a sandwich," Kevin said.

"Last I checked you weren't dying of a broken heart," Monday replied, her voice a little sharper than usual.

Everyone fell silent. Kevin's eyes widened and he shot Monday a _watch your mouth _look. Dean's fingers clenched briefly into fists, and Cas put a hand on his shoulder. Adam exited the bathroom again, made his way to the table, and sat down. He looked a little pale and sweaty but otherwise seemed fine. He seemed to sense the mood at the table had suddenly darkened, because he said nothing.

"Sam will be fine," Cas said, his voice low.

"Yeah, he's a trooper," Kevin added.

"It's just a joke, Dean," Monday said, sounding small and childlike.

"Yeah," Dean said, voice thick. "That's what you dad liked to say, too."

"Dean—" Cas said. Dean shook off his hand and left the room.

Monday looked down at her hands, her eyes dark.

* * *

"Sammy?" Dean said, knocking on Sam's bedroom door. "C'mon, man, let me in."

There was no reply. Dean tried the door handle, and found that it was unlocked.

That was unusual. Sam had been locking the door since that one time about three days after Amelia's death when Dean had barged in and forced Sam to take a shower and eat some soup.

Dean cautiously opened the door and peered inside.

The room was empty.

* * *

Sam finished the spell and stood back, waiting. Ruby's knife was in his hand.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Hello, Moose."

Crowley looked the same as usual—black tailored suit, smarmy grin teasing the corners of his mouth, carefully styled hair and shoes that gleamed from polish. "What can I do you for?"

"Explain yourself," Sam said.

"Explain what?" Crowley asked. "I know I haven't stopped by for tea in a while, but I didn't think you'd miss me that much."

"Explain Jess!" Sam roared. "Explain Amelia! Explain this old god business!"

"Sam!"

Dean ran into the room, grabbing Sam by the arm. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He has to answer for what he did," Sam replied, eyes wet and red.

Crowley held his hands up. "Your brother's rambling," he said. "I suggest you calm him down and explain that I'm not the enemy here?"

"Like hell you aren't," Sam growled, taking a step towards Crowley.

"Whoa, Sam, hold up," Dean said, trying to hold Sam back. "This isn't the way to do things."

"Listen to the squirrel, Sam," Crowley said, smiling.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to Sam, keeping his voice low. "Sam, we can't let him know that we know, all right? We have to close the Gates first, cut him off from the demons. That'll destroy most of his army."

Crowley sighed dramatically. "How many times do I have to explain it, Winchesters? I'm on your side."

Crowley cleared his throat and then things got weird.

The King of Hell began to sing.

"_I'll admit that in the past I've been a nasty._

_They weren't kidding when they called me, well, an ass._

_But you'll find that nowadays,_

_I've mended all my ways,_

_Repented, seen the light, forgot the past_

_True? Yes._

_And I fortunately have some special… talents._

_Bargaining tools that I always have possessed._

_And dear brothers, please don't laugh;_

_I use it on behalf_

_Of the miserable, the lonely and depressed…_

_(Pathetic)_

_Poor unfortunate souls!_

_In pain!_

_In need!_

_This one wants to strike in oil,_

_This one wants to save her mom,_

_And do I help them?_

_Yes indeed._

_Those poor unfortunate souls!_

_So sad!_

_So true!_

_They come flocking to my crossroads crying_

"_Deals, Crowley, please!"_

_And I help them!_

_Yes I do._

_Now it's happened once or twice_

_Someone had to pay the price_

_And I'm afraid I had to rake 'em cross the coals._

_Yes I've had the odd complaint,_

_But on the whole I've been a saint,_

_To those poor unfortunate souls!_

_Have we got a deal?_

_Oh… and there is one more thing._

_We haven't discussed the subject of payment – I'm not asking much! Just a token really, a trifle! What I want from you is… your soul._

_You'll have your looks. Your pretty faces! And never underestimate the importance of body language. Ha!_

_The angels they don't like a lot of blather._

_They think vessels that put up fights are a bore!_

_Yes with them it's much preferred,_

_Their vessels just not say a word,_

_And after all, darlings, what I don't blather for._

_C'mon nobody's that impressed with conversation._

_True hunters should avoid it when they can._

_But those winged dicks will be stunned_

_That you've simply cut and run!_

_Yes this'll really show them who's the boss!_

_C'mon you poor unfortunate souls!_

_Go ahead! Take your roll!_

_I'm a very busy demon and I haven't got all day,_

_It won't cost much! Just your soul!_

_You poor unfortunate souls! It's sad! But true!_

_If you want to use the crossroads king you've got to pay the toll,_

_Take a gulp and take a breath and go ahead and sign the scroll!_

_(Lookit Growley now I've got the boys!)_

_The boss is on a roll!_

_With these poor, unfortunate souls!_"

Crowley finished with a flourish, winked, and vanished.

Dean and Sam stared openmouthed.

* * *

"He what?" Adam asked, gaping.

"Crowley sang," Castiel repeated, as if trying to wrap his mind around such a fantastical idea.

"Did you guys smoke a little something by any chance?" Kevin asked.

"You think maybe all this power-hungry stuff's made him a little…" Dean twirled his finger at his head.

"Crowley is a very logical creature," Castiel replied. "I doubt that he has gone insane, as you are suggesting."

"Why did you guys summon him anyway?" Adam asked.

"I didn't, Mr. Revenge Film here did." Dean turned to his brother. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking he needed to answer for what he did!" Sam replied. "He tortured Jess, turned her into a demon, made her hate me, and then he got Amelia killed!"

"He will answer for what he did, Sam, but not if you go and do something stupid like that!"

Castiel ignored the brothers as they continued to bicker—he'd heard plenty of it over the years. He looked around the room. "Where's Monday?" He asked Kevin.

"She left right after Dean did," Kevin answered. "She seemed pretty upset."

Castiel nodded and went out to find Monday.

* * *

Monday slammed the jar of newt eyes onto the table. "Just like your father," she said, mimicking Dean's deep voice. "Oh, you mean just like the guy who knocked my mom up and never bothered to introduce himself or keep me from _starving for ten years_?" Monday shouted the last few words, slamming another jar onto the table.

"Like I don't want to find Crowley as much as they do," she continued, laying out a few herbs. "Like I don't want revenge. I've waited thirteen years for my revenge, and I'm going to make him burn."

She flipped open her mother's notebook and began chanting.

"_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen_

_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen_

_Let their flesh not be torn, let their blood leave no stain._

_Though they beat them, let them feel no pain!_

_Let their bones never break and however they try to destroy them,_

_Let them never die,_

_Let them never die!_

_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen_

_Eleka nahmen nahmen_

_Ah tum ah tum eleka… eleka…"_

Monday gave a cry of frustration and threw the notebook onto the floor.

"_What good is this chanting?_

_I don't even know what I'm reading!_

_I don't even know what trick I ought to try._

_My family's in danger,_

_One of them dead and the other's heart bleeding_

_One more disaster I can add to my_

_Generous supply!_"

Monday braced her hands on the table, gripping it so tightly that her nails dug into the wood. She thought of her mother, who'd only ever helped people. She thought of Amelia, who had been nothing but loving.

"_No good deed goes unpunished._

_No act of charity goes unresented._

_No good deed goes unpunished:_

_That's my new creed!_

_My road of good intentions led where such roads always lead!_

_No good deed,_

_Goes unpunished!_"

She thought of her mother. She thought of Castiel, who was with them only by the grace of God. She thought of Amelia, and how if she'd just restored the anti-demon measures… if she'd been faster…

"_One question haunts and hurts,_

_Too much, too much to mention:_

_Was I really seeking good,_

_Or just seeking attention?_

_Is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice-cold eye?_

_If that's all good deeds are,_

_Maybe that's the reason why_

_No good deed goes unpunished!_

_All helpful urges should be circumvented!_

_No good deed goes unpunished!_

_Sure I meant well—_

_Well look at what 'well meant' did!_

_All right enough—so be it!_

_So be it then._"

Monday walked over to the shelf and took down another book. She'd found it in the Men of Letters library and had put it in her bedroom, 'just in case'. It had disturbing occult symbols on the front.

"_Let all be agreed:_

_I'm wicked through and through_

_Since I cannot succeed_

_My family, in saving you_

_I promise no good deed will I attempt to do again!_

_Ever again!_

_No good deed_

_Will I do_

_Again!_"

There was a knock on her bedroom door.

Monday quickly slid the book underneath her bed. "Come in!"

Castiel opened the door. "Where you singing?"

"No. Why would I do that?" Monday replied.

"Crowley also sang," Castiel went on. "Sam summoned him and Dean says he burst into song."

"That's weird," Monday said.

Castiel approached her bed and stuck his foot under the bed, using it to draw the book out. They both stared down at it.

"I have no other choice," Monday said after a few minutes of silence. "We have to fight fire with fire."

"That's what I thought, once," Castiel replied.

Monday glared. "I couldn't save my mom. I couldn't bring you back, and I couldn't save Amelia. What option is left? This," she picked up the book. "This is easy. That's why witches do it—it gives them results right away. They don't have to work at it. I can do this, I can kill dozens of old gods this way."

Castiel placed his hand on the book, lowering it until Monday set it down on the bed. "It will destroy you," he said.

"Maybe. That's the price of war, isn't it?"

"There's the honorable war as well," Castiel replied. "Jus in Bello."

Monday rolled her eyes. "They teach you that in the garrison?"

"Yes," Castiel answered, deadpan.

"I'm not helpful like this, Castiel!" Monday replied. "I'm a witch! Dean's probably expecting me to—"

"Dean would never want you to do this," Castiel said, his voice low and growling. "And neither would your mother. She fought against this. She would hate that you'd turned to it, especially to get revenge for her."

Monday looked away, and Castiel took her chin in his hand and turned it so that she was facing him again. "This isn't who you are. Don't compromise yourself for power or because you think the ends justify the means. Trust me, they don't."

Monday sighed. "Fine."

Castiel nodded and stood. "And remember—you might be a witch but you are also a nephilim."

"Yeah, Gabriel's daughter as Dean is so fond of reminding me," Monday snapped. "The asshole didn't raise me. He's not my dad. He just contributed DNA."

"You are a nephilim," Castiel repeated. "And that means we are family."

"Getting all sappy on me?" Monday asked.

"I'd rather you didn't destroy your soul by using black magic," Castiel said, not rising to the bait. "I happen to care about you, Monday, as do the others."

He gave Monday one of his tiny almost-smiles, and left the room.

* * *

Kevin and Adam were finishing sorting Kevin's notes and organizing them when Adam cleared his throat. Kevin looked up, worried that Adam was going to have another episode, but Adam was clearing his throat in the _I want your attention _way, not the _I'm going to hack up a lung_ way.

"What's up?" Kevin asked.

"Nothing, it's just—" Adam cleared his throat again. "I wanted to thank you. For helping us translate this and everything."

"No problem," Kevin replied. "We're just a little worried about you."

"I'll be fine," Adam said.

"Since we're doing the whole thanking deal," Kevin said, "Thanks for helping me out when my mom—I mean, it wasn't easy, but it was easier knowing I had someone to talk to."

"Anytime."

And that was how when Dean entered the room, still arguing with Sam, they were struck dumb to see Adam and Kevin singing a duet.

"_If I were a rich man,_" Adam sang, "_With a million or two,_"

"_If I lived in a penthouse,_" Kevin went on. "_In a room with a view,_"

"_And if I were handsome,_"

"No way!" Kevin joked.

Adam rolled his eyes. "It could happen! _Those dreams do come true. I wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have you._"

They sang the next part together.

"_Wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have,_

_Wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have,_

_Wouldn't have nothing!_"

"Can I tell you something?" Kevin asked. "_For months I have envied your grace and your charm. Everyone loves you, you know,_"

Adam struck an overly dramatic model pose. "Yes, I know," he said, trying to hold in his laughter.

"_But I must admit, big guy, you always come through._

_I wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have you._"

They sang the next part together and actually managed to harmonize a little. "They've lost it," Sam mumbled.

"_You and me together!_

_That's how it always should be._

_One without the other,_

_Don't mean nothing to me._

_Nothing to me!_"

"_Yes,_" Adam sang. "_I wouldn't be nothing if I didn't have you._"

"I know what you mean, because—"

Adam cut Kevin off. "_I wouldn't know where to go,_"

"Me too, because I—"

"_Wouldn't know what to do,_"

"Why do you keep singing my part?" Kevin said. Getting no answer, he just sang the next part along with Adam.

"_I don't have to say it_

_(I say it anyway)_

'_Cause we both know it's true:_

_I wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have,_

_I wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have,_

_I wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have_

_You_

_I wouldn't have nothing if I didn't have you!_"

Dean clapped loudly and obnoxiously. "Encore, encore!" He said.

"What the hell is all this racket?" Monday asked, coming in with Castiel. "Were you two singing?"

"Monday just sang," Castiel pointed out unhelpfully. "I believe it's called a power ballad?"

"I hope you can appreciate the depth of my hatred for you right now," Monday said.

"You _sang_?" Dean asked. He turned to Cas. "Did you record it?"

"I can ruin your sex life," Monday said. "I have the hexes for it."

"What is this, collective insanity?" Sam asked. "First Crowley, then Monday, and now both Kevin and Adam?"

"We were expressing our bromance," Kevin replied.

"My, my, the sass in this room is intensifying by the moment," Monday observed.

"I will duct tape your mouth shut," Dean warned her.

"Maybe it's a spell of some kind?" Adam suggested.

"I don't know of any spell that can do this," Monday said.

Kevin frowned. "What was Crowley like when he sang?" He asked Sam.

"He seemed a little annoyed because I accused him—rightfully—of killing my fiancé."

"He was pissed because he knows we're onto him!" Dean argued.

"And Monday?" Kevin asked.

"She was…" Castiel paused. "Angry."

"What are you getting at?" Dean asked.

Kevin looked thoughtful. "It's just… I read something in the newspaper yesterday. There was this teenager in Lebanon, Donna something, who did the same thing. Burst into song with no explanation."

"What did she sing?" Sam asked.

Kevin shrugged. "_Every Breath You Take_, apparently. Sang it to the boy she'd been crushing on for a couple months."

"What did the boy do?"

"He responded by coming out as gay, which she didn't take too kindly to."

"As in…?"

"She stabbed him with a pair of scissors," Kevin said. "In the…" He gestured at his crotch.

Dean winced.

"And this was in the town closest to the bunker?" Sam asked.

Kevin nodded.

Sam gave Dean a look. "Sounds like something worth checking out."

"Oh, hell no," Dean replied.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Dean grumbled.

Sam elbowed him, hard. "You were saying, Mrs. Raffordy?"

The middle-aged woman dabbed at her eyes. "It was so tragic. He was such a sweet boy."

Sam nodded, his sympathetic puppy face firmly in place. "So how did it all start?"

"Donna was always a little strange, you understand," Mrs. Raffordy explained. "But I never expected anything like this from her."

"Was there any incentive for her… outburst?" Sam inquired.

The woman shook her head. "Oh, no. She just started singing, right in the middle of the grocery store."

"Has anything else like this happened recently?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced around surreptitiously. Everyone milling about the crime scene appeared to be appropriately shocked and horrified. No one looked suspicious or unduly interested.

"No," Mrs. Raffordy answered. "It was quite out of the ordinary."

Sam nodded, flipping his notebook shut. "Thank you," he said. "That'll be all."

They turned and started heading out of the store, letting the police clean up the crime scene. "So what do you think?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "Well unless we find a hex bag around here I've got nothing."

Sam nodded. "I'm with you. There are no monsters that act like…"

"Like they're Lea Michele?" Dean quipped.

Sam rolled his eyes. "So, what, you think we should search the store? Try and find the hex bag?"

Dean shrugged again. "Unless you've got a better idea."

"I told you guys," Monday said. She'd been introduced as Dean and Sam's intern. "This isn't any kind of spell that I know."

"Well, maybe it's one that you don't," Dean replied.

That was when they heard it.

Singing.

They hurried out to find a boy in his early twenties, singing loudly to an older man. They were in front of some kind of farming supplies store, and the older man had a few sacks and a shiny new pitchfork in his hand.

Dean frowned. "Is he singing what I think he's singing?"

"This will not end well," Monday stated.

The young man was singing a slightly modified version of Paul Anka's (_You're) Having My Baby_.

"_She's the woman I love,_

_And I love what it's doing to her!_"

"What do you think?" Monday asked. "Pitchfork guy's wife or his daughter?"

"_The need inside her,_

_I see it showing_

_The seed inside her,_

_Your daughter, she can feel it growing._

_Are you happy that you know it,_

_That your daughter is having my baby?_"

"Classy," Dean said.

Sam looked around to see if anyone suspicious was milling about. Everybody he saw was now staring, wide eyed and slack jawed, at the scene in front of them. Nobody seemed to understand the turn of events or to be especially gleeful about it.

Well, Monday was, but that was different.

"_Didn't have to keep it!_

_Wouldn't put her through it!_

_She could have swept it from her life,_

_But she wouldn't do it,_

_No she wouldn't do it!_

_She's having my baby!_"

Sam noticed how tightly the older man was gripping his pitchfork. "Um, Dean?"

Dean was trying and failing to keep his grin off his face. Monday had tried so hard to muffle her laughter that she'd fallen over and was now lying on the ground, still chuckling.

"_She's a—_"

The older man lowered his pitchfork and stabbed the younger man through the stomach.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted as blood sprayed everywhere.

"Holy shit," Monday said, sitting up.

Sam and Dean both ran over to the man, who was continuing to stab the young man with the pitchfork. Sam grabbed one arm and Dean got the other and they wrenched the older man away. The guy was cursing, saying things about "seducing my Margie" and "damned fucking pig".

As they wrestled the guy to the ground and waited for the police to show up, Sam could only think that this was the most insane thing he'd ever seen.

And he'd seen unicorns with rainbow tails, so that was saying something.

* * *

"Maybe he thought he was too young to be a grandfather?" Monday suggested as they watched the man hauled away.

"Question isn't why he killed the guy," Dean said. "Question is why did our baby daddy burst into song? You gotta admit it's not the smartest move."

"Any news from Adam and Kevin?" Sam asked. The boys were back at the bunker with Cas, trying to find an answer to this mess.

"They said they'd call if they found anything," Dean said. "In the meantime, I'll interview the, uh, mother to be. Monday?"

"Sir?" Monday said, her voice sugary sweet.

"See if you can find any evidence of witchcraft."

Monday sighed. "Fine."

"Hey," Dean said, peering at Sam. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam replied. "You go on and interview the girl. I'll catch up."

"Okay," Dean said, eyeing him suspiciously.

Sam and Dean headed in opposite directions.

* * *

Sam watched the townsfolk as they milled about. Many were discussing the two murders in confusion, talking about how strange it was. Others were simply going about their business. But despite the recent events, they all seemed fairly happy and content.

The world was still revolving, and life was still going on.

Quietly, almost without realizing it, Sam began singing.

"_Without you,_

_The ground thaws._

_The rain falls._

_The grass grows._

_Without you,_

_The seeds root._

_The flowers bloom._

_The children play._

_The stars gleam._

_The poets dream._

_The eagles fly_

_Without you._

_The earth turns,_

_The sun burns,_

_But I die_

_Without you._"

He made his way to a bench and sat down, observing the world around him, feeling lost and empty. He'd gone through this once with Jess and he'd hoped to never go through it again. Now he'd lost someone he loved, had to lay there helpless as they died.

"_Without you,_

_The breeze warms._

_The girl smiles._

_The cloud moves._

_Without you,_

_The tides change._

_The boys run._

_The oceans crash._

_The crowds roar,_

_The days soar,_

_The babies cry,_

_Without you._

_The moon glows,_

_The river flows,_

_But I die without you._"

How was he supposed to pick himself up again when every time he found someone to share his life with he lost them? Amy, Jess, Madison, Ruby, Amelia…

"_The world revives._

_Colors renew._

_But I know blue,_

_Only blue_

_Lonely blue_

_Within me, blue._

_Without you._"

Sam didn't see Dean and Monday walk toward him and then stop, realizing what was going on. Dean didn't move but Monday came forward and sat down next to him.

"_Without you,_

_The hand gropes._

_The ear hears._

_The pulse beats._

_Without you,_

_The eyes gaze._

_The legs walk._

_The lungs breathe._

_The mind churns,_"

"_The mind churns,_" Monday echoed.

"_The heart years,_"

"_The heart yearns,_" Monday replied, harmonizing.

"_The tears dry,_

_Without you._

_Life goes on,_

_But I'm gone._

'_Cause I die_

_Without you._"

Monday let him sing the last part himself.

"_Without you,_

_Without you,_

_Without you._"

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dean's face. Neither Dean nor Monday said anything, either because they didn't know what to say or because they knew words were useless.

And then Dean's phone rang.

* * *

"About time," Dean said. "We're up a creek without a paddle here. What've you got?"

_No text in the bunker says anything about a musical curse,_ Kevin said on speakerphone. _There are the Muses from Greek mythology, but we ruled that one out. It doesn't have the proper signs._

"I'd know if it was the Muses," Monday added. "I know old gods."

"Then we're stuck," Dean said.

_I've got a theory. It's not perfect, but it's all I have._

"Shoot," Dean said.

_When people in musicals burst into song, it's for one of two reasons: they're super emotional about something, or they have to tell someone something and they don't know how to say it._

"Okay…" Dean frowned.

_From what you're telling me, the same thing is happening here. Everyone who's burst into song has had something to say that they couldn't think to say any other way, or in Monday and Sam's case felt extremely emotional._

"So as long as we keep calm and use our words we're good?" Dean asked.

_Pretty much._

"And you can't find anything to suggest what this might be or how to stop it?"

_Nope, sorry._

Dean nodded. "Okay. Call us if you find anything."

_Gotcha._

Dean hung up. "Kevin's got nothing," he said, "And we're at a loss, so…"

Sam waited as Dean swallowed. "So…?"

"So I was thinking, we could use some backup on this thing."

"Backup meaning?"

"I think we should call Cas."

"Cas," Sam said, looking perplexed. "How is an angel going to help us with this?"

"I_–_" Dean cut himself off and took a deep breath. Don't get emotional. Right. "Look, let's just call him, okay? Maybe he'll have some insight into this thing."

Sam put his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and Dean pulled out his phone again.

When Cas appeared, Dean couldn't help but notice the guy looked a little shell-shocked. "Cas? You okay?"

"I believe we need to discuss something," Cas said. "Privately."

"In other words, you need to talk," Monday said. "The four wordsmen of the apocalypse."

"I thought I said no more apocalypse jokes?" Dean asked.

Monday grinned cheekily.

"All right, Cas, we'll talk." Dean led the angel away from the other two. Both Sam and Monday made a show of entering the local old-fashioned candy store. "What's up?"

"Charlie called me," Cas said.

"She's back from fairyland?"

"For the time being, yes," Cas said. "She told me that she cleared your legal record and she can set me up with a legal identity if I want."

Dean frowned. "That's great, Cas, but why couldn't you tell me this in front of Sam and Monday?"

"Charlie hinted rather strongly that this would enable us to get married," Cas said.

If it were possible to choke on your own spit, then Dean would have been a dead man. "What?"

Dean hadn't given marriage a second thought. He knew, in the back of his mind, that Cas was it for him. He didn't want anyone else. Just Cas. He wanted that for the rest of his life. But that didn't mean he was ready to get down on one knee or anything.

Aside from that, however—well, normally Dean would be fine with considering marriage if that was what Cas wanted. But not right now. Not with what had just happened to Sam. His brother had just lost the woman he was supposed to marry. How would he feel if Dean then went and got hitched?

"I confess I hadn't thought much about it," Cas went on, "But I rather like the idea."

"We can't, Cas," Dean said.

Cas gave a tiny little frown. "Why not?"

"What do you mean, why not?" Dean asked. "Cas, are you blind?"

"No, and I resent the implication."

"How do you think it'll look?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cas said, growing angry. "If you don't want to do it, then simply tell me so."

"What would the point be anyway?" Dean said.

"The point?" Cas had that smiting look in his eyes. "Dean Winchester, you are the biggest idiot I've ever met."

To say it escalated from there would be an understatement.

* * *

By the time Sam and Monday exited the candy store, Dean was standing with his arms folded and Cas was nowhere in sight.

Monday started to ask what happened, but Sam tugged on her shirt and she quickly closed her mouth.

"Sam," Cas said.

Sam turned around, trying to keep his face neutral. "Yeah?"

"You called me for assistance. You can show me the crime scenes, if you'd like."

"Yeah, uh, sure," Sam said, glancing over at Dean. His brother was refusing to look in Cas's direction. "Um, Monday?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll stay here and babysit Grumpypants."

Sam looked around and realized that there were an unusual number of people around them. "Guys?"

"Yeah, I see it," Dean muttered, backing up so that the four of them were in a tight circle.

"Are they advancing on us?" Cas asked.

"Seems like it," Dean replied. "Any ideas?"

"I could smite them."

"You guys always go for the dramatic option," Monday observed.

By this point Dean and Cas had somehow ended up back to back, with Monday pressing in close to Dean's side while Sam was on Dean's other side. The townspeople were definitely surrounding them now, all with rather disconcerting smiles.

"You two are so cute together!" An older woman exclaimed. She appeared to be in her late forties or early thirties.

It took Dean a minute to realize she was talking about him and Cas. "Oh, uh…" he stuttered, unable to think of anything to say.

"That's ironic," Cas said, ignoring social norms as usual. "Considering we just had a fight."

Dean was starting to feel a little nervous. "Um, Cas?"

The woman frowned. "What's the issue, dear?"

Dean knew that tone by now. "Cas, I really think we should–"

Too late. The woman started singing.

"_Is it the clumpy way he walks?_" She sang.

"_Or the grumpy way he talks?_" A nearby man questioned musically.

"_Or the pear-shaped, square-shaped weirdness of his feet?_" A third sang.

"My feet are just fine, thanks," Dean snapped.

Another group of townspeople joined in. "_And though we know he washes well, he always ends up sort of smell-y,_"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam's jaw drop. Cas appeared to be watching everything with a detached sort of curiosity. Dean could feel his face heating up.

"_But you'll never meet a fellow who's as sensitive and sweet!_"

Sam smothered a laugh. Monday didn't even try smothering hers. Dean glared at them and tried to find an exit route, but they were properly surrounded by well-meaning, harmonizing townspeople now, of every age and gender.

Wasn't this middle America? Shouldn't they be freaking out over the gay romance thing?

"_So he's a bit of a fixer-upper! So he's got a few flaws!"_

"_Like how he's the acting mother to his little brother,_

"_That's a little outside of nature's laws!"_ Monday sang. Dean glared at her and she ducked out of his reach.

"_So he's a bit of a fixer-upper, but this we're certain of!_

"_You can fix this fixer-upper up with a little bit of love!"_

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Dean growled.

Sam appeared torn between outright laughter and having an emotional breakdown. Monday was dancing along, the traitor. Cas looked like he was starting to understand what was going on, and spoke up.

"I don't think you understand; Dean doesn't want to continue his relationship with me."

Dean smacked his face with his hand.

"Oh, are you nervous?" The woman who'd started this whole debacle asked. "Tell me, dear,

"_Is it the way that he runs scared?_"

"_Or that he's socially impaired?_" A man chimed in helpfully.

"_Or that he flees emotion and tends to be crude?_" Sam added. Dean glared at him. "What? You do!"

"_Are you holding back your fondness due to his unmanly blondness?_

"_Or that he covers up the fact that he's the honest goods?_" The townspeople inquired.

Cas just blinked.

"_So he's a bit of a fixer-upper! He's got a couple of bugs!_

"_His isolation is a confirmation of his desperation for healing hugs!_

"_So he's a bit of a fixer-upper, but we know what to do!_

"_The way to fix this fixer-upper is to fix him up with you!"_

"Enough!" Dean shouted. "Look, not that it's any of your business, but he wouldn't want to spend the rest of his life with me anyway, all right? He just said so himself a few minutes ago." Dean punctuated this with a glare in Cas's direction, which Cas returned twofold.

The townspeople stared for a moment before huddling together in an unsettlingly conspiring manner.

"So he's a bit of a fixer-upper," one man noted, gesturing towards Cas.

"That's a miner deal," someone else pointed out.

"He's clearly pining, and the hunter's lying," a woman added.

"We'll just have to show their love is real," a girl concluded.

"_So he's a bit of a fixer-upper, his brain's a bit betwixt!_

"_Take the fear and doubt and cast them out, and the whole thing will be fixed!"_

The main woman came forward, smiling. It made Dean nervous. She took Cas's hand, pressing it gently.

"_We're not saying you can change him, 'cause people don't really change._

"_We're only saying that love's a force that's powerful and strange._

"_People make bad choices when they're sad or scared or stressed._

"_But throw a little love their way, and you'll bring out their best!_

"_True love brings out the best!"_

The rest of the townspeople joined in for the final chorus. Dean was about ready to let the ground swallow him up.

"_Everyone's a bit of a fixer-upper! That's what it's all about!_

"_Father! Sister! Brother! We need each other, to raise us up and round us out!_

"_Everyone's a bit of a fixer-upper, but when push comes to shove,"_

One of the men sang the next lyric solo.

"The only fixer-upper fixer that can fix a fixer-upper is:"

Everyone joined in again.

"_True, true, true, true, true, true, love!_

"_Love, love, love, love, love, true, love!_

"_True…"_

Monday cleared her throat and said in a mocking tone, "Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your—"

Dean smacked her in the back of the head.

"Ow!" Monday glared that him. "That was unnecessary!"

"No, _that_ was unnecessary!"

"_Love!_"

* * *

After extricating themselves from the well meaning and over enthusiastic townsfolk, Castiel vanished. He felt that, given Dean's anger and the embarrassing situation they'd just been in, it would be best if he were not around.

He wandered around the local park for a little while, keeping himself invisible so he could observe unseen, as he'd been told by Dean that men wearing trenchcoats were treated with suspicion around children. It was nice, being able to take in the flowers and trees and the sounds of life, but Castiel found he couldn't fully enjoy it.

He hadn't had a real fight with Dean since Purgatory, and even that had felt better than this. Back then he hadn't had anything to lose. Now he might have lost the one thing he cared about the most.

Castiel made his way back to the Winchesters but kept himself hidden, watching. They were in a local diner. Sam was nowhere to be found—most likely in the bathroom—but Dean was explaining crime scenes and interrogations to Monday.

He was so good with her, Castiel thought. Dean never gave himself enough credit, and he knew things had been difficult with Ben, but Dean had always been very protective and nurturing. Monday looked up to him, depended on him, and he cared for her as if she were his own.

"_I heard your prayers from far below,_

_But down in Hell how could you know_

_I listened, every word you said, I heard you._

_But after this_

_I'll plead the fifth_

_Before my fall, after your lift,_

_I swore I heard you say the Hallelujah._

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_I know you're strong, but I can't explain_

_I've seen you die over again_

_Only you would still want to pray to me_

_She tied me up where the angels fall_

_She made me deaf to all your calls_

_And from my lips she drew our Hallelujah._

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Righteous man, that's what they said_

_But still awake, you'd lie in bed_

_And listen to the shadows, knife clutched tightly_

_But when sleep came it could not kill_

_The fears that on your skin would chill_

_Those nights I wish I'd sang a Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_There was a time when I couldn't say_

_What truly had led me astray_

_But now I understand what pushed me from grace_

_It was your breath, your eyes, your face_

_You courage drove to the sticking place_

_And there I fell for all your Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Maybe there's a God above_

_Through you He tried to teach me love_

_A long and winding road that lead me to you_

_Don't think that I've abandoned hope_

_Still I'll hang onto this rope_

_I won't let go till I find our Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah._"

* * *

Dean was in the middle of explaining how to avoid leaving fingerprints when he felt his necklace grow a little warmer. He looked out the window and saw nothing, but the heat didn't abate.

Cas was somewhere nearby. Probably keeping himself from sight, but he was definitely close.

"Go apologize," Monday said.

Dean threw a fry at her. "How do you know I'm the one who has to apologize?"

"You usually are," Monday replied. "What did you fight about anyway?"

Dean sighed. "Charlie put the idea in Cas's head that we should get married."

"And you don't want to?"

"No! Yes! Maybe! I don't know. Point is Cas brought it up to me and I told him we couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because of Sam," Dean said, gesturing towards the bathroom Sam had vanished into.

"You're kidding me," Monday said.

"And I guess I said it wrong because Cas took it to mean I was trying to break up with him, and it just spiraled from there."

Monday rolled her eyes. "You are the biggest idiot. Sam!"

Sam was making his way towards them from the bathroom and frowned. "What?"

"If Dean wanted to put a ring on it, what would you say?"

"What?"

"If Dean and Cas were to get married, how would you feel?"

"I'd be happy for them," Sam replied, sitting down. "Why? Is that why they were fighting?"

"You'd be happy for us?" Dean said. "But what about—" He stopped himself.

"Amelia," Sam said. "She has a name, Dean, and I'm not going to burst into tears every time I hear it. Just because I lost her doesn't mean you should hold back on your life. Do what you want to do, what'll make you and Cas happy. How many times do I have to explain this to you?"

"He has a complex," Monday said, munching on some bacon.

"Dean," Sam sighed. "Stop being an idiot and go apologize."

"Why do you assume I'm the one that needs to apologize?" Dean asked, getting up out of his seat.

"Because we know you," Sam replied, stealing the rest of Dean's fries.

Dean got outside and gazed around. "Cas," he said. "I know you're there."

There was no reply, but Dean could feel his necklace get a little warmer. Cas was probably standing only a few feet away from him.

"C'mon man, don't make me do this while you're invisible."

Dean sighed. He opened his mouth again, but instead of words what came out was the beginning of a song. He clamped his mouth shut.

Oh, hell no. He'd avoided the singing curse so far, and he was going to keep avoiding it, thank you.

He tried to call out for Cas again, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was song.

Dean grit his teeth. Fine. Fine! If he had to sing, then he'd sing. Get this stupid thing over with and then find Cas.

Dean closed his eyes, pretending that there wasn't anybody else avidly watching him on this very crowded street (fuck), and sang.

"_While everybody else is getting out of bed,_

_I'm usually getting in it._

_I'm not in it to win it,_

_And there's a thousand ways you can skin it._"

What kind of song was this?

"_My feet have been on the floor,_

_Flat like an Idol singer._

_Remember Winger?_

_I digress._

_I confess you are the best thing in my life,_"

Okay, nobody was supposed to know about the one American Idol season he watched a few years ago.

"_But I'm afraid when I hear stories about husbands and wives._

_There's no happy endings, no Henry Lee,_

_But you are the greatest thing about me._

_If it's love,_

_And we decide that it's forever_

_No one else could do it better._

_If it's love,_

_And we're two birds of a feather_

_Then the rest is just whatever._

_And if I'm addicted to loving you,_

_And you're addicted to my love too,_

_We can be them two birds of a feather_

_That flock together._

_Love, love,_

_Got to have something to keep us together_

_Love, love,_

_That's enough for me._"

Monday had exited the diner and was—the little shit was recording this? Dean was going to kill her. Monday just grinned and gave him a little wave.

He still didn't see Cas.

"_Took a loan on a house I own._

_Can't be a queen bee without a bee throne._

_I wanna buy you everything except cologne,_

'_Cause it's poison._

_We can travel to Spain where the rain falls mainly on the plain._

_Sounds insane 'cause it is._

_We can laugh, we can sing_

_Have ten kids and give them everything._

_You can move in,_

_I won't ask where you been,_

'_Cause you and I, we know it's past._

_When we're older,_

_We'll do it all over again._

_When everybody else is getting out of bed,_

_I'm usually getting in it._

_I'm not in it to win it._

_I'm in it for you._

_If it's love_

_And we're two birds of a feather,_

_Then the rest is just whatever._

_If it's love,_

_And we decide that it's forever_

_No one else could do it better._

_And if I'm addicted to loving you,_

_And you're addicted to my love too,_

_We can be them two birds of a feather_

_That flock together._

_Love, love,_

_Got to have something to keep us together,_

_Love, love,_

_Got to have something to keep us together,_

_Love, love,_

_That's enough for me._"

Dean felt someone grab him and spin him around, and he caught a glimpse of a trenchcoat and blue eyes before Cas was kissing him, hot and fierce. Dean wrapped his arms around him and kissed back enthusiastically. Somebody (probably those well meaning townspeople from earlier) cheered.

Monday grinned and hit 'save' on her recording.

This was definitely going to find its way onto YouTube.

* * *

"Okay, thanks." Sam hung up and exited the diner. While Dean had been making a rather public apology, Sam had been on the phone with the deputy. They'd arrested a suspect—someone who claimed to not only know what was going on but also be responsible for all of it.

"Let's go!" Sam called. Dean and Cas were still—okay, he didn't need to be seeing that.

"Go where?" Monday asked.

"We have a suspect," Sam said. "He's being held down at the station."

* * *

They were making their way into the police station when Sam paused. "Guys?" He said. "Can you hear that?"

Dean frowned. Sure enough, someone was singing.

"_Make 'em laugh! Make 'em laugh!_

"_Don't you know everyone wants to laugh?_"

"That voice is familiar," Sam said.

They drew their weapons and entered the building.

"_My dad said be an actor, my son,_

_But be a comical one!_

_They'll be standing in lines_

_For those old honkytonk monkeyshines!_"

Dean could feel his jaw drop. Cas was standing stiffer than a board, and Sam literally dropped his gun.

Monday shoved past them. "What the hell is wrong with—" She caught sight of the person singing in the chair and reeled back, hiding behind Dean. "What the hell is that?"

Of course, Dean realized belatedly. Monday could see the guy's true form. If angels were intimidating, he could hardly imagine what an archangel looked like.

Gabriel was leading an entire station of police officers in a 1920's chorus line routine. The guy even had a cane that he was twirling around.

"_Now you could study Shakespeare and be quite elite,_

_And you can please the critics and have nothing to eat,_

_Just slip on a banana peel,_

_The world's at your feet!_

_Make 'em laugh,_

_Make 'em laugh,_

_Make 'em laugh!_"

"I can't believe it," Cas said quietly.

"Me neither, but not in the way you're thinking," Dean replied.

"_My grandpa said go out and tell 'em a joke_

_But give it plenty of hoke!_

_Make 'em roar,_

_Make 'em scream,_

_Take a fall,_

_Bust a wall,_

_Split a seam!_

_You start off by pretending you're a dancer with grace,_

_You wiggle 'till they're giggling all over the place,_

_And then you get a great big custard pie in the face._

_Make 'em laugh,_

_Make 'em laugh,_

_Make 'em laugh!_"

"I think I might be sick," Sam admitted.

"_Make 'em laugh,_

_Make 'em laugh,_

_Make 'em laugh!_"

They finished with freaking jazz hands. Dean wanted to bang his head against the wall.

"Hello, boys!" Gabriel said, getting to his feet. "Miss me?"

"Define 'miss'," Sam replied.

"Aww, Moose, I never knew you cared," Gabriel replied, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Cassie! How are you?" He opened his arms. "What? I don't get a hug from my baby brother?"

Castiel, to Dean's surprise, gave Gabriel a bone-crushing hug. "I have missed you," Cas admitted.

"You were dead," Dean said. "We saw the body."

"Just like you saw my body the first time you 'killed' me?" Gabe asked. "And who's the little squirt?"

Monday peered out from around Dean's back and Gabriel's face changed. "Oh," he said quietly.

"That's one way to say it," Dean retorted. He put an arm around Monday's shoulders.

"What?" Monday asked. "I have something on my face?"

"You do look like you went a few rounds with a sawmill," Gabe admitted. He looked her up and down. "You have your mother's eyes."

Dean could feel Monday grow still, and he tightened his grip on her a little. "You knew my mother?"

"In the Biblical sense," Gabe replied. "Name's Gabriel, last remaining archangel."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam said. "How are you here? Why have you come back after all this time?"

Dean was grateful his brother was changing the subject. Monday was staring at Gabe like Dean imagined a mouse stared at a cobra.

"Well, I couldn't risk Lucifer or any of his minions finding me," Gabe replied. "Besides, I had some other problems to deal with."

"Like?" Sam said.

"An ex-girlfriend who's out to murder you—we made up, by the way—Old Gods revolting, trying to keep the guy in charge of the Old Gods from not realizing you're alive, sneaking into Heaven, tracking down my daughter—oh, and spending a year in Bali. It's amazing there, let me tell you, the drinks—"

"Wait, you?" Monday cut in. She looked half fascinated and half horrified. "You're the one who contacted me in the alley. I recognize your voice."

"Good memory," Dean said.

"A mysterious figure asks you to hunt down an angel. Yeah, I remembered his voice," Monday said, still staring at Gabe.

"Gabriel," Cas said. "Why are you here now?"

"You're trying to close the Gates of Heaven, am I right?" Gabe grinned. "Naomi's a real nasty piece of goods. I remember her from back in the day."

"Can you help us?" Sam asked.

"Maybe," Gabe replied. "I already helped by sending you this munchkin."

Monday glared at him.

"We still don't know how she's supposed to help us," Dean said. "But it's good to give her a family."

Gabe's eyes darkened at the jab, but he didn't comment on it. "You just haven't reached that part of the trials yet. Anyway, as for Heaven itself… just because the angels are locked away doesn't mean they're going to learn their lesson. You'll still need everything up there straightened out." Gabe pointed at Castiel. "I'm sure Cassie here would love that job, but alas, it means he'd never get to see Deano again and I know neither of you lovebirds want that."

"What are you suggesting, Gabriel?" Cas said.

"I'm suggesting that when you close the Gates, you put me in charge," Gabriel replied.

"Oh, hell no," Dean said.

"Hold on, Dean," Sam said. "He's got a point."

"Are you crazy?"

"Think about it," Sam said. "Look, he can be a dick. We all know that. But he always had good intentions. And when he was a Trickster, he punished people who deserved it."

"Just desserts," Monday echoed.

"Exactly," Sam nodded. "He's better than anyone else."

"Gabriel is the only one of my brothers and sisters left that I trust," Cas added.

Dean weighed his options. He didn't like this idea one bit, but he wasn't going to let Cas be locked in Heaven forever, either. And Sam had spent more time with Gabriel than Dean, so he knew the guy better—and disliked him more. If Sam and Cas said that Gabriel was their best shot, well, Dean didn't see any other options tap dancing into their path.

"Fine," Dean said. "So what was this whole singing thing?"

"I had to get your attention somehow," Gabriel said, smiling.

"Thanks for that," Dean replied. "Now, you and me? We're gonna have a talk. Alone."

Sam gave Dean an odd look but left. Cas took Monday's elbow and led her out, casting Dean a look over his shoulder. Dean had a feeling Cas knew exactly that this talk would be about.

* * *

"You going to threaten me?" Gabriel asked. "Promise me that if I betray you you'll kill me for real this time?"

Dean shook his head. "Kind of hard to believe you're actually here."

"Pfft. I loved my brother but I'm not stupid. He's the Devil. You think I'd go in without a backup plan?"

Dean shrugged. "What about Monday?"

"What about her?"

"You told us she'd be helpful to us. In what way?"

"Spoilers, Dean," Gabe winked. "I can't tell you how the book ends."

"You sent her to us," Dean said. "Did you know she existed?"

"Not at first. Lily never told me—it was two ships passing in the night anyway, and she knew the gods are notorious for leaving their kids to fend for themselves," Gabe replied.

"But you did know."

"Eventually."

"And you couldn't have, I don't know, fed her? Gotten her to a good home? Taught her to read? Kept her from starving?"

"She's tough, she turned out fine," Gabriel replied.

"She had to steal and hustle and worse to survive until she learned enough magic to create fake dollar bills," Dean said. "And you're telling me she's fine?"

"She's got you now, hasn't she?"

"My point is she could've used some help from you."

Gabriel sighed and looked almost contrite. "I'm never going to win Father of the Year, Dean, but I had problems of my own. This Old God uprising? It's years in the making. I spent a lot of time trying to prevent it. What you saw during the Apocalypse? That's nothing. They're angry, and they want blood."

"And I guess you were just too busy to look after your daughter," Dean said, contempt in his tone.

"I'm not explaining myself to you."

"Good, 'cause I won't buy it."

"But I will say this," Gabriel added. "I couldn't let myself get attached to something I was going to have to lose."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll learn soon enough," Gabriel said cryptically. "In the meantime, keep looking after her. I'll meet you when the trials are fulfilled." He raised a hand, and then paused. "Y'know, Deano—you're not as bad at this whole father business as you think."

Gabriel snapped his fingers and vanished.

* * *

"That was Sam," Adam said. "They're on their way back here."

"Great," Kevin said. He held up a piece of paper. "The Men of Letters were geniuses but I have to say, this demon trap looks like something Fred from _Scooby-Doo_ would come up with."

There was the sound of knocking on the front door. Adam and Kevin looked at each other. The others were too far away to be back so soon, and they had a key.

"Krissy, maybe?" Adam suggested.

"She'd call, wouldn't she?" Kevin asked. "Same with Charlie or anyone else."

Arming themselves, they made their way to the front door.

"Meg?" Adam said, swinging the door open.

"You know, you look kind of like a gaping rat when you're confused," Meg said. "I got a little proposition for you boys."

Adam and Kevin looked at each other, then back at Meg. "What is it?" He asked.

"I'll help you finish closing the Gates of Hell," Meg said, "If you boys figure out a way to turn me human."

The corner of Adam's mouth turned upward. "I think both of those things just got a lot easier."

* * *

**The song that Cas sings about Dean is called Plead the Fifth (Dean's Lullaby) and is a Destiel-centric rewriting of the song Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley. The link to the song (with the author's name) is here: thespywhospies**** dot tumblr dot com post /90255058743/ seedysunflower-plead-the-fifth-deans-lullaby**

**All other songs were, in order:**

**Poor Unfortunate Souls from The Little Mermaid**

**No Good Deed from Wicked**

**If I Didn't Have You by Randy Newman**

**You're Having My Baby by Paul Anka**

**Without You from RENT**

**Fixer-Upper from Frozen**

**If It's Love by Train**

**Make 'Em Laugh from Singin' in the Rain**

**Any lyric changes were done by me.**


	19. We Carry On, the Wayward Sons

**The final battle for Heaven is upon them, but Team Free Will is getting some unexpected help. Meanwhile, the final trial commences.**

* * *

There were only a few people left in the damn bar by this point, and they'd been there for six hours. Dean fingered the paper Kevin had given him. The prophet had written everything down that they'd need—the trials with the incantation to be said after each one, etc. The first trial was getting a Cupid's bow, and Cas had gotten intelligence from Gabriel that a Cupid was scheduled to hit the bartender, Dwight, sometime that night. But so far all Dwight had done was serve customers.

Six hours later, Dean had played three rounds of pool with Monday, done a duet with her on _Need You Now_ by Lady Antebellum, convinced Cas to try a tequila shot, taught Monday and Cas how to play darts, and had four beers. Now, he was bored.

Monday was playing minor pranks on the various patrons, such as making one guy spill his drink when chatting up a pretty girl, or turning another guy's water into a Sprite just as he took a large gulp. Castiel had just checked the bathrooms in case there was someone in there that they'd missed (though how they'd have missed them after six hours, Dean didn't know—he figured the angel just needed something to do) and rejoined Dean, taking the stool next to him.

"Anything? You've been gone long enough.

"No. There was one female, but…"

"What?"

Cas frowned. "I don't think she was female." He looked over at the beer Dean was nursing. "Are you sure you should be drinking on the job?"

"What show you been watching?" Dean replied. He took a drink and snuck another look at Cas. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"With what?"

"Boarding up Heaven, locking the door behind you and throwing away the key?" Dean replied. "I mean, I know you trust Gabriel and all but those are your siblings, Cas. You're always talking about how you need to help them."

"Yes, I am," Cas said, pondering his words. "But lately I feel that I have been helping them—or trying to—because I felt a sense of… obligation. That it was something I had to do, not what I wanted to do."

"And what do you want to do?"

"I want to hunt," Cas said. His eyes glowed. "I want to be a hunter, with you."

Dean felt something warm blossom and grow in his chest, and he grinned. If they weren't in a public place he'd kiss Cas so hard the angel wouldn't be able to see straight.

"You two are sickening," Monday muttered, snapping her fingers and causing a woman's barstool to collapse.

There was the sound of the front door opening, and all three turned to look. A lovely woman had just entered and was walking up to the bar with a beer delivery for Dwight.

"I know I called dibs on the blonde guy in the corner," Monday said. "But I call dibs on her too."

"Don't be greedy," Dean replied.

"Hey, there," Dwight said, catching sight of the woman. "Where's Ed?"

"Flu. I'm Gail."

"Well, okay, then."

"Showtime," Dean said, nudging Cas.

"Let me give you a hand," Dwight said, helping Gail with the beer.

"Thanks," Gail said. "You're a real gentleman." She looked at the man sitting at the front corner of the bar and smiled at him. The man had been there when Dean, Cas and Monday had arrived and hadn't moved the entire time. "Hey," Gail said.

"Holy crud," Dean said. "This is like the first five minutes of every porno I've ever seen."

"Why the hell would you ever need a porno?" Monday asked. "Have you looked in the mirror?"

Gail handed a pen to Dwight to sign for the beer. "Thanks."

Dwight took the pen to sign, indicating the man at the bar. "Gail, Rod."

"Ma'am," Rod said, his western twang evident.

"Rod here rides a stool most days," Dwight explained.

Gail placed a hand on each man's shoulder and smiled. "I'll be seeing you both."

She gathered up her clipboard and began to leave. "Thanks for the help."

"No problem," Dwight replied.

Gail left the bar and Dean stared, surprised. Wasn't she Dwight's match?

Dwight and Rod had gone back to staring at the TV, which was advertising a new hunting bow.

"Damn, that's sweet," both men said at the same time.

The two men turned and stared into each other's eyes. Monday snapped her fingers and music began to play.

_Oh it's so nice to be with you,_

_I love all the things you say and do…_

Dean knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. "What?" He blurted out.

"I believe Dwight and Rod were just matched," Cas observed.

"Wait," Dean said. "That means—"

"Gail's the Cupid," Monday finished. She looked at Castiel. "Does that mean a one-night-stand is out of the question?"

"It was always out of the question, you're too young," Dean replied, getting off his barstool.

"I am legal, and that's what matters."

"And you're in my house with my rules, and that means no sleeping with angels. They'll dick you over."

"I find that offensive," Cas cut in.

"You're an exception, babe," Dean replied.

They exited the bar and followed Gail around the side of the building. To their surprise, she turned and faced them. She appeared peaceful and at ease, even smiling at Castiel. "Hello, brother." Her eyes alighted upon Monday, and her smile grew and softened. "Hello, little one."

Monday appeared taken aback. So far the only thing angels had seen fit to call her was an abomination. "Hello?" She leaned into Dean and whispered, "She's friendlier than most."

"I promote love and connection," Gail replied. "You are a product of that. I see no reason for it to bring shame."

Monday smiled. "I like this one."

"Gail," Castiel stepped forward. "We need your bow."

"What?" Gail seemed surprised.

"It's a part of the trials," Dean explained. "I'm—we're—"

"Fixing Heaven," Cas said.

"I've been afraid to go home for some time now," Gail admitted. "Orders used to come once a day, and now it's chaos. It all seems to be breaking down. You think you can fix that?"

"With time," Castiel said, "Yes."

"Take it, then." Gail held out her hand, and a small tattoo of a bow appeared in the center of it. As they watched the bow became more three dimensional, seeming to rise out of her palm and materialize in her hand. Dean carefully took the bow from her.

"I'm sorry," Dean said.

Gail shook her head. "If it means that Heaven will be well again, then it is a sacrifice I'm willing to make." She smiled warmly at them. "Good luck."

After she vanished, Dean followed the instructions Kevin had given him and burnt the bow with holy fire. He then spoke the incantation.

"I feel bad," Monday admitted. "She can't set people up anymore."

"If she truly wishes to help humanity," Cas told her, "She will find a way."

They watched the tiny fire burn out.

* * *

Adam carefully tied Meg down in the chair, double-checking the shackles. "You're going to spasm," he explained. "And it'll be painful."

"Thanks," Meg replied. "I really thought it was going to be a walk in the park."

Standing at the back of the church, Sam rolled his eyes.

Adam stared at her thoughtfully, and Meg sighed. "I got several hundred years of death and hatred to cleanse," she said. "Let's get going."

Adam picked up the syringe and began. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…"

Behind him, Sam winced but managed to keep his eyes open. Kevin had to close them and turn away.

Within a few minutes, two screams of pain began filling the church.

* * *

"Okay, first trial dealt with," Dean said, pulling out Kevin's notes. "What's the second one?"

Monday tried (and failed) to peer over his shoulder as he read. "Okay, so it says we have to go to a holy place—will a church do?"

Dean felt a hand on his arm but before he could protest, they were already there. He stumbled against a church pew. "Thanks for the warning there, Cas."

"What's the rest of it say?" Monday asked, trying to get the paper out of his hand. Dean held it over his head, out of her reach. "No fair."

"That's what I tell Sammy and look where it's got me," Dean told her. He looked at the paper. "It says—"

His heart skipped a beat.

"Dean?" Cas took a step forward, realizing something was wrong.

"It says—" Dean swallowed. "It says that the next trial is to—to cut out the heart of a nephilim."

* * *

Adam figured they were about halfway through. Meg was breathing heavily and coughing, and he didn't feel too good himself. "Keep going," she said. "Keep going."

Adam looked down at his hands and arms, which were glowing underneath the skin. It looked like someone had filled his veins with glow-in-the-dark orange paint.

"You okay?" Sam called.

"I'm good!" Adam replied. "We're good!"

"Just peachy," Meg added, groaning.

The church began to rumble and shake and everyone—Meg included—looked around, alarmed. The floorboards began to crack.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"Is this a part of the trial?" Adam asked.

Kevin shook his head. "No."

In her chair, Meg stiffened. "It's her."

Adam turned to her. "What?"

Meg shook her head slightly. "I am so dead," she whispered.

The church doors blew open, and Abaddon entered. She smiled.

"Hello, boys."

* * *

Monday snatched the paper from Dean. "Let me see that." She read it over in silence, then handed it back to him.

"There has to be another way," Dean said, folding the paper up and putting it in his pocket.

"Monday is the only nephilim for centuries," Cas replied. "Even if there were any others out there, it would take us too long to locate them."

"Are you telling me that dickhead sent his own daughter to be killed?" Dean said.

"I prefer the term 'ritual sacrifice'," Monday quipped.

"No. We're not doing this," Dean said. "We'll figure something else out."

"It's okay, Dean," Monday said.

"How can you say that?" Dean looked over at Cas. "Tell her she's crazy."

"Dean, this is why I was sent to you." Monday held out her archangel blade.

Dean stared at it like he'd never seen it before. "No."

"You have to close the Gates," Monday said. She pressed the blade into his hands.

Dean looked desperately at Cas. "There's got to be another way."

Cas simply stared at them sadly. Something about Cas, Dean had learned, was that when he was truly sad he never said anything. He just sort of… froze.

"When Agamemnon wanted to sail to Troy and take back Helen for his brother Menelaus, he needed the blessing of the gods," Monday said. She got down on her knees so that she was kneeling at Dean's feet, the blade pointed at her chest. "He was told that to win the favor of the goddess Artemis, who had accidentally be slandered, he had to sacrifice his youngest and favorite child, Iphigenia.

"Sources differ on how willing Agamemnon was to sacrifice his daughter. Some say he tried to get out of it—at one point he even lied and said she was betrothed to Achilles. But in the end, most sources agree, he did sacrifice her."

"Real cheerful story," Dean said. His eyes stung.

"However," Monday said. She wouldn't look away from his face, forcing him to keep staring at her. "Some sources say that Artemis saved Iphigenia at the last moment—that her father's intentions were all that was needed. Iphigenia was taken to Taurus in the Crimean Peninsula, or made into one of Artemis' female hunter-companions, or even became the goddess Hecate. No one can quite agree.

"But they say, Dean, that she lived."

He couldn't do this. He couldn't sacrifice his daughter. Maybe some shit Greek general a thousand years ago could but Dean couldn't. He couldn't—

Monday reached up and laid her hands over his on the handle. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas turn away.

The blade went straight through.

* * *

"Good morning, sweetheart."

Monday slowly blinked open her eyes.

She was lying in a bed—her bed. In her house from when she was little.

She sat up and looked around, freezing when she saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Mom?"

Monday's mother smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. "You've been asleep for a while, sweetheart. Day's wasting."

Monday got out of bed and stood. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. "You're—you're alive."

Monday's mother smiled. "Come with me. I made pancakes."

Monday followed her into the kitchen as her mother kept talking. "I was thinking that we could learn some new spells today. And I could tell you about the Chinese gods. I haven't told you about them yet, have I?"

Monday swallowed. "You were going to on the night you died."

Her mother smiled gently. "But I'm here now."

Everything in the house was just like Monday remembered: the books stacked up everywhere, the jars and boxes holding strange ingredients, the tapestries and scrolls that hung from the walls.

"Mom?"

Her mother turned and smiled at her. "Yes?"

Monday took a deep breath. "I have to go."

"Go? Where?" Her mother took a step forward. "You're with me now. You're safe."

"I know." Monday struggled to breathe. "And it's—it's perfect. It is, really. And I've missed you so much. I missed your pancakes and your lullabies. I missed how you made spell chants sound like songs, and how you would dance naked under the full moon where the neighbors could see because you thought it was hilarious. I missed—I missed your hugs."

Her mother opened her arms and Monday stepped into them, crying and holding on tight. "But I can't stay," she whispered. "You're my mother. You'll always be my mother. But I have a new family now." She pulled back and looked up into her mother's eyes. "I have brothers. I have a big sister. I have—I don't know what Castiel is, but he's family. I have a dad." Monday smiled. "They're my family, and I have to go back. They're in danger and I have to help them."

Her mother hugged her again. "I'm always here," she said. "I'm always here, sweetheart."

"I know." She stepped back. "I love you."

She walked out of the house and was engulfed by a great, white light.

* * *

Dean looked up and saw red tracks running down Cas's face. He moved to comfort the angel but Cas stepped back, holding up a hand. "Finish it, Dean."

Dean looked down at the body. Cut the heart out. Right.

He had to keep himself from vomiting as he got to work. He'd killed her. He had killed her and now he had to cut her heart out with her own blade.

There was the sound of fluttering wings, and the clang of angel blades. Dean turned and saw Bartholomew, of all assholes, clashing with Castiel.

"You don't know what you're doing," Bartholomew snarled.

"On the contrary," Castiel replied. "I know all too well."

Two other angels appeared just as Dean finished his task and he stood, holding the heart in one hand and the archangel blade in the other. Blood coated his hands and ran down his arms. He swallowed hard. It was Monday's blood. "You're here? Now?" He demanded. "Now you want to fight?"

He gestured down at Monday's body. "I just killed her! I just killed her and you want to start a fight now?" He held the heart high above his head, squeezing, feeling the blood run down his arm, still warm from the body. "You don't even care, do you," he said. "She was one of you, and you don't even care. You didn't even know she existed. You'd have killed her yourself if you had the chance."

He squeezed the heart harder. "Well?" He demanded. "Come at me!"

There was a cry, and Dean turned to see Bartholomew fall to the ground on his back. Castiel planted his foot on top of Bartholomew's chest, raising his blade. "I'm sorry," Cas said.

He ran Bartholomew through.

Dean, half in shock, half in anger, squeezed the heart with all his strength.

He felt a strange sensation of something leaking out of it—not blood, although it was warm, but it wasn't liquid. It was lighter than that. What was more it felt… soothing.

"Dean! Close your eyes!" Cas shouted.

Dean did so, instinctively followed Cas's orders. He heard the screams of the other two angels, and felt like he was bathed in a sensation of—well, love: infinite, uncompromising, all-purpose love.

When he opened his eyes, the church was dim again, and there were three dead angels on the floor. Cas stared at Dean's hand, and when he looked at it he saw why.

Monday's heart had turned to ash.

* * *

Adam was flung back across the church. He hit the wall and fell to the floor, groaning in pain. Meg fought against her shackles. They'd put her in a devil's trap just to keep her from accidentally lashing out and hurting anyone in her pain, but now it was preventing her from fighting back against Abaddon.

The Knight flung Kevin and Sam against the wall as well, where they crashed and collapsed to the ground, dazed. She approached Meg slowly with a smirk on her face.

"Oh, Meg," Abaddon said. "You determined little thing." Her eyes blackened and her face twisted as she snarled. "You traitor."

She punched Meg so hard the demon's head snapped back. Abaddon punched her again, and again, punctuating the blows with words.

"You little whore," the Knight hissed. "You think you could get away with this? Betraying your people, your kingdom?" She struck again, making blood pour from Meg's nose. "I'll get you for this. I'm going to find your precious human and I'm going to string her up. How'd you like that? I'll hang her like a sack of meat and let you watch her as she dies."

Meg spit blood into Abaddon's face. "That the best you can do?" She taunted.

Abaddon pulled her fist back again but was interrupted when someone poured holy oil on her. She turned.

Kevin stood, box of matches and an empty bottle in hand. "Nice suit," he said, indicating her _The Devil Made Me Do It_ shirt. "Remember me?"

He lit the match and tossed it at her. Abaddon screamed as her vessel was set on fire, but she'd walked into the demon trap to get to Meg and she was trapped.

"That's for my mother, you bitch!" Kevin shouted at her.

"Kevin, get Adam!" Sam yelled, running up as Abaddon writhed. He brandished Ruby's knife. He couldn't get close to Abaddon because of the flames, so he threw the knife. It embedded itself in Abaddon's back, killing her instantly.

The last Knight of Hell fell to the floor, her corpse still burning.

"I'm all right," Adam protested, even as Kevin helped him walk back over to Meg. "I'm all right." He grabbed the syringe again. "You okay?" He asked Meg.

Meg rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck. "Where were we?" She asked.

* * *

Dean was bent almost double, hands on his knees, breathing hard. He'd vomited twice already and he still felt dizzy. He'd crushed her heart. He'd literally—and the blood—and she was still just _lying there_, her eyes open and her chest—

He vomited again.

Cas had a hand on his back, soothing him. Anchoring him. "Dean," he said. "Dean. You have to focus. You have to finish this."

"What's next, huh?" Dean asked, a hysterical laugh working its way out of his throat. "Am I gonna have to kill you too, Cas? Kill another person I love?"

Cas grabbed Dean by the shoulders and forced him to kneel on the ground, pulling his torso upright so that his chest was against the angel's back. Cas wrapped one arm around Dean's waist and the other around his chest so that the angel's right hand gripped Dean's left shoulder. Dean felt himself relax, his heart rate slowing, as if his body—his soul—instinctively remembered the last time Cas had held him like this, when the angel had gripped him tightly and raised him from Perdition.

"I can't pretend that I am unaffected by this," Cas said, his voice low in Dean's ear. "But I know that Monday would want you to finish this. What's the point of her sacrifice if you don't follow through, Dean? Will she have died for nothing?"

Dean gripped Cas's arms, sinking back against the angel. "I can't do something like that again, Cas," he said. "If the third trial is anything like that, I'm done."

Castiel drew the paper out of Dean's pocket and read it. He let out a tiny gasp.

"What?" Dean snatched the paper from him.

The third trial was simple.

Dean had to convince an angel to Fall.

* * *

Adam began the incantation to finish the purification.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra," he chanted, holding up Ruby's knife. Sam and Kevin watched from the background. Kevin was nervous but Sam was resigned. He'd realized how this was going to end back when Meg started crying out in Middle English and Adam stopped being able to stand upright. He'd given so much purified blood to Meg and he was already weak. The orange glow in his veins refused to go away now.

But Sam knew about sacrifice and choosing your path, and he wasn't going to stop Adam. Not if this was what he wanted.

Adam sliced open his palm.

It was then that Kevin realized what was going to happen. "No!" He shouted, dashing forward. Sam nabbed him just in time, holding him back.

"It's his choice, Kevin," he said. "Let him make his choice."

Adam looked back at them, his hand raised, palm just inches away from Meg's forehead. There were deep circles under his eyes, his skin was sallow, and he looked exhausted, but he smiled. Sam nodded at him and felt something hot and wet prick at his eyes.

"Never got to say this before," Sam said to him. "Baby brother."

Adam's smile grew. "Big brother." His gaze flicked over to Kevin. "Take care of yourself, bro. I want to see you in Heaven, but not too soon."

His gaze locked with Sam again. They'd spent so many years together in the Cage. They were years of torture and pain, but they were also years of bonding. They were years of protecting each other, of fighting for each other. They were years of becoming family.

Their gazes stayed locked as Adam pressed his bleeding palm to Meg's forehead—a final benediction.

Meg screamed, shattering the stained glass windows of the church.

And Adam Milligan fell to the floor, dead.

* * *

"No."

"Dean…"

"No, Cas. I'm not letting you do this. You—you love being an angel. You love helping people and being a warrior of God and, and it's a part of who you are."

They had shifted so that they were kneeling on the floor facing each other, foreheads pressed together. Dean tried to ignore Monday's corpse lying just a few feet away, focusing instead on Cas's burning bright eyes and his hands on Dean's body, the feel of his arms around Cas's neck.

"Are you saying that I am less than if I am not an angel?" Cas asked.

"No," Dean said. "Who you are won't change. Who you are to me, that ain't ever going to change, Cas. I promise."

"Then I fail to see the problem."

"Dammit Cas!" Dean growled. "I don't want you making that big of a sacrifice for me!"

Cas brought his hand up to cup Dean's cheek. "Dean Winchester," he said, his voice weighed down with love. "For you, nothing is too big. In fact… it feels quite pale and small compared to you."

Dean swallowed. "I don't deserve this."

Cas smiled—a huge, genuine smile. "Yes, you do. And I will spend every moment of my life proving that to you. Because I will have a life." Cas's smile grew even more and his eyes blazed. "A human life, with you."

Dean couldn't handle what he saw in Cas's face and he closed his eyes. It was all too overwhelming.

"I want to be with you," Cas told him. "I choose this, Dean. I choose you. Always."

Dean let out a sound—a laugh or a sob, he couldn't tell.

"Now, say the words."

"Castiel," Dean said, repeating the words Kevin had written on the paper. "I ask you to Fall from Heaven. I ask you to tear yourself from your Grace. I ask you to become human."

"Yes," Castiel whispered.

The angel's body arched and Dean found he couldn't hold him anymore, Cas's skin felt like it was burning, and he fell back. Light poured out of Cas's eyes and mouth, out of his ears, his very fingertips. Dean closed his eyes and turned his face away, holding his arm up as if to block a blow.

After a moment the light dimmed. Dean's ears rang, even though he hadn't heard anything.

He was half-afraid that Cas would be gone—that he'd be a fetus in a woman's womb, having to be reborn as Anna was—but Cas was there. Passed out on the floor, sure, but he was still there.

Dean hauled the angel—former angel—up into his arms. "Cas," he said, shaking him. "Cas, babe, c'mon. You gotta stay with me, angel. Don't do this to me."

"Not an angel," Cas replied.

"What?"

Cas blinked and opened his eyes. They were as blue and shining as ever. "I'm not an angel anymore."

Dean could feel the pulse racing underneath his fingertips and see Cas's chest rise and fall, and he grinned. "You're always gonna be my angel."

"Castiel!"

Naomi stood before them, angel blade in hand. She saw Cas and she stumbled back a step, horrified. "What—what did you do?"

Dean helped Castiel to stand. "What I wanted to," Cas replied.

Naomi's face turned grim. "I was hoping to convince you to return to Heaven," she said. "Now I see it is too late."

"It would have been too late had you come a few minutes, or an hour, or a year ago," Cas replied.

_The moment Castiel laid a hand on you…_ The echo of Hester's words rang in Dean's ears. For the first time, it didn't sound like a curse.

Naomi's eyes flashed. "Then so be it."

She raised her blade—and screamed as a blade protruded from her stomach. Her blade clattered out of her hands and she collapsed onto the floor, dead.

Gabriel pulled his archangel blade—Monday's archangel blade, Dean thought—out of Naomi and snapped his fingers, cleaning it off. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Did I miss the party?"

He caught sight of Cas and grinned. "Look at you!" He grinned. "Fallen and everything! I'm so proud. Now," he said, tucking his blade away, "To business."

"Yes," Castiel said.

They quickly went over how Heaven was going to be run. Dean tuned it out, turning back to Monday's body. He bent down and took off his jacket, using it to wrap Monday up and cover her wounds. He traced the hellhound scars on her face, closing her empty blue eyes before hauling her up into his arms.

"C'mon, baby girl," he whispered. "Let's put you with my other baby."

He carried her out to the car and laid her in the backseat. With her head fallen to the side, hiding her face, and with her gaping chest wound hidden by the coat, she almost looked like she could be sleeping.

By the time Dean got back, Gabe and Cas were wrapping things up. "I won't be seeing you again," Gabe was saying. "Or at least, you won't be seeing me." He held out his arms for one last hug, which Cas stepped into. "I'm proud of you, baby brother."

"I shall miss you," Cas replied.

"Me too."

They pulled apart and Gabriel turned to Dean, sticking out his hand. Dean shook it reluctantly. He decided that he wasn't going to ruin this for Cas by bringing up Monday. "Look after him, Dean," Gabriel said. "He's my favorite brother."

"Make sure those dicks stay in line," Dean replied.

Gabriel chuckled. "Oh, I'm going to have a lot of fun."

The archangel smirked and snapped his fingers, vanishing.

There was a moment of silence, and then Castiel spoke.

"Gabriel raised me."

Dean turned to him, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"I was the youngest angel in creation," Cas explained. "A few angels were made to replenish our numbers after the battles with Lucifer, such as Inias and Samadriel, but I was the youngest for a long time. Gabriel raised me and looked after me. When I reached you in Hell and remade you, and I saw all of your memories… I saw how you treated Sam and I thought, that was how Gabriel was to me. I think he might have been the only angel worthy of the title brother."

Cas stared off into the distance, a far away look in his eyes.

Dean left him to his thought for a minute or so, and then he slipped an arm around Cas's shoulders. "Let's go home, Cas."

"Yes." Cas tucked himself more firmly into Dean's side, smiling up at him. "Let's go home."

* * *

Monday gazed around her, trying to see, but everything was white. It had started out as bright light, like she'd walked into the center of a star, but gradually it had solidified and lessoned enough that she'd been able to see that she was standing in a white room with no windows or doors.

"Heya, kiddo."

Monday turned and found herself facing Gabriel. "Nice of you to show up for once," she said. "Finally feel like talking to me?"

"Cute," Gabriel replied. "Let's skip the pleasantries and get onto the main event, shall we?"

"Sure, like why you set me up to be killed."

"You're a nephilim," Gabriel replied. "Or you were. Your soul separated from your angelic blood after you died. You're fully human now."

"That's why Dean needed my heart?" Monday asked.

"Yup. He should have destroyed it by now—and all of your Grace."

"So what's the deal with these trials?" Monday asked. "What's their point?"

Gabriel sighed. "It's about locking up Heaven, right? So you got the Cupid's bow, the means by which Heaven makes people fall in love. You have a product of love between a human and an angel, which would be you. And then you have an angel choosing humanity over Heaven."

"What?" Monday asked.

Gabriel grinned. "Pretty sure our little Cassie is human by now."

Monday moved forward threateningly. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything," Gabriel replied. "The final trial was the sacrifice of an angel who loved humanity—or one human, doesn't matter. Castiel Fell for Dean, the one completing the trials. So Heaven is now closed."

Monday looked around. "I didn't notice anything."

"You wouldn't. You're a human soul. The angels?" Gabriel shook his head and clucked his tongue. "They're flipping their shit."

"So you're trapped up here?" Monday asked.

"Yup. It's okay, though. I got a lot of work to do. Gotta make this place better for humans instead of trapping them in those shitty illusions."

"Was my mom back there just an illusion?"

Gabriel regarded her. "No. That was her."

Monday let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Funny, how she continued to do things she no longer had to, like breathe. Force of habit, she supposed.

"Then I have to get the angels back in line," Gabriel went on. "And I'm not as trapped in here as you might think. Sure, it's difficult, but there's always a back door. I'm probably the only one who can get through, being an archangel, and I might not even be able to find it—who knows. But I'm sure I haven't seen the last of earth." He grinned. "But you and me? This is the last stop."

"What do you mean?"

"You thought I was going to let you die?" Gabriel replied. "C'mon."

"You never gave me any reason to think better of you," Monday replied.

Gabriel sighed. "Look, I might not have been there while you grew up. But you're my kid. I'm your father."

"You're not my father," Monday replied. "I already have a father, and he's ten times the man you'll ever be."

Gabriel's expression darkened, but he didn't smite her so Monday considered it a win. "I probably deserved that," he admitted. "But I knew you were never mine. You were going to be sacrificed. I knew that. And if I was put in charge of Heaven—and I knew that was coming, only other one of us who doesn't have his head up his ass is Cas and he'd never leave Dean—then I wouldn't have you then, either. You're a human soul. You can't really interact with us up here. You can't even see our true forms anymore, can you?"

Monday hadn't noticed it until he'd said it, but it was the truth. She couldn't see Gabriel's true form—just his vessel.

"I didn't want to get attached to something I couldn't keep," Gabriel said. "Whether it was a good or bad decision, the right or wrong thing to do—that's up for time and hindsight to decide. But it's what I chose. And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you. You turned out better than I expected."

Monday tried to laugh but failed. "For what it's worth, thanks."

"Now, before you go," Gabriel said. "I have some dirt on the Old Gods you'll want to know about. Share it with the others when I send you back. You're all in for a tough fight."

* * *

They got back to the bunker to find a trio of people standing outside. And they were, indeed, all people—as in, human.

"Look at you," Dean said, striding up to Meg. "New and improved?"

"Not exactly new," Meg admitted. "This body's seen some wear and tear. But definitely improved." She smiled, the action soft and genuine instead of wily and devious. "I was just telling these boys goodbye," she said, indicating Sam and Kevin.

"Seems to be the day for that," Dean said. "Where are you off to?"

"Europe," Meg said. "Bela's waiting for me. But don't worry—we'll send postcards."

"Think we'll see you face to face?" Sam asked.

Meg laughed. "I hope not. It'll probably mean the world is ending again."

To Dean's surprise, she hugged Sam. "Remember, I've been in that noggin of yours," she said. "So listen to me when I say to lighten up and take care of yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes but hugged her back.

"You too, squirt," Meg said, hugging Kevin and patting his back. "Do me a favor and throw a few parties at college, okay?"

Dean was next, and he actually didn't mind hugging Meg as much as he thought he would. "Look after my unicorn, okay?" She asked.

"Your what?" Dean said.

"Long story." Meg winked at Sam, and then lightly whacked Dean on the shoulder. "It's been fun, Dean, really it has. All those years of cat and mouse, on opposite sides and then on the same side, fighting over the same angel… I'll miss it a little. But, there are better things ahead for me."

She turned to Cas and gave a crooked little smile. "Hey, Clarence."

"Meg."

"I saved the best for last," Meg said, throwing her arms around Cas and pecking him on the cheek. "Don't tell the others," she said loudly, "But you're my favorite."

"All right," Dean said. "Break up the love fest."

Meg winked at Cas as she pulled back. "Have fun being human, Castiel. I know I will."

She began to saunter off, but turned. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Meg's grin was mischievous, good-natured, and wonderfully, painfully human. "You really missed out on your chance with Bela. She's something else."

Dean found himself laughing and crying at the same time, and he wasn't even sure why.

* * *

Everyone in the airport made way for the leggy brunette. Perhaps in the United States the crowds would push and shove their way past her, but in France they still knew how to appreciate a true beauty. She was wearing a very short, tailored jacket that showed off her long legs and gorgeous figure, the deep green color accenting her eyes. The collar was peeled back, exposing a creamy throat, and her hair cascaded around her like a waterfall. To complete the look she wore strappy forest green heels, a slightly darker shade than the jacket, and emerald teardrop earrings hung from her ears.

She stopped in front of the terminal and waited, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

When she saw the person she'd been waiting for, the smile burst across her face, lighting up her eyes as she waved frantically.

They collided into each other, arms and legs tangling and wrapping around one another as if it had been years instead of a couple of weeks. "You're here," Bela whispered, cupping Meg's face in her hands and kissing her everywhere.

"Mm, miss me?" Meg asked, burying her hands in Bela's silky hair.

Bela pulled back just an inch and smiled. "Let's just say, I'm not wearing anything underneath this coat."

Meg's eyes didn't go demon black anymore, but they darkened so much that it was almost the same thing. "We are getting out of here. Now."

They ran for the exit, holding hands and laughing.

* * *

"This wood is heavy," was the first thing she heard when she woke up.

The second thing she heard was, "That's what—wait. Is that what she said?"

"You're human now, Cas. You can't just lift things anymore. Gotta work those muscles."

"Go easy on him, Dean. He's new to this."

Castiel, Kevin, Dean and Sam.

Monday opened her eyes.

She was lying on the grass in a field not far from the bunker. She recognized it as the place where they'd had Amelia's funeral. Someone had dressed her in her favorite pair of jeans and the _Keep Flying and Stay Shiny_ shirt Dean had bought for her after she'd finished watching _Serenity_ and cried buckets. Her hair was brushed but loose about her shoulders.

She sat up slowly, feeling at her chest. There wasn't a gaping hole there, so that was good, but the skin felt weird. She looked down.

A shiny scar, like an exploding star or a spider web, sat just above her left breast, right where her heart was. She could feel it beating when she pressed her palm against it, but she knew instinctively that the blood it pumped was one hundred percent normal.

She was fully human.

Well, there was one thing. Her chest scar wasn't pink or red like her other scars. Instead, it was silvery blue. She ran her fingers over it gently, the only reminder that she had once held the grace of angels in her veins.

It didn't matter. She'd never defined herself by that anyway. She was a witch. She liked men and women. She was a hunter. She was a part of the Winchester family.

Those were the things that mattered.

"Son of a bitch!"

Monday turned and looked up at Dean. She smiled hesitantly, prepared for him to dump holy water on her or something. "Dad?" She whispered.

Next thing she knew her balance was completely out of whack as she was scooped up off the ground. She wrapped her arms around Dean's neck as he spun her around, holding her tight enough to make her bones crack.

"You're home, baby girl," he choked. "You're home."

Monday held onto her father and cried.

* * *

They burned Adam as the sun was setting.

They'd originally meant to hold a double funeral with Monday as well, but since she'd come back to life it was decided that throwing her onto a burning pyre wasn't in good form.

Dean wouldn't stop hugging her, anyway.

Everyone said a few words about Adam—Kevin got choked up at one point and couldn't finish, and Sam cried through his entire eulogy.

"He's in Heaven now," Kevin said as they trooped back to the bunker, exhausted and feeling wrung dry. Sam had his arm around the prophet's shoulders, like Dean used to do when Sam was small, and while Kevin didn't say anything he leaned into it gratefully. "That's the reward of whoever undergoes the trials for Hell. So he's happy."

"The Gates of Hell are closed," Sam said.

"And the Gates of Heaven," Cas added.

"I think that means we can rest easy, at least for a short bit," Dean said. "Before we go after Crowley."

"That reminds me," Monday said. Dean was carrying her piggyback style. "Gabriel met with me in Heaven. That's why he sent me back—he gave me all of this information on the Old Gods."

"And you remembered all of it?" Dean asked.

"I couldn't read for most of my life," Monday pointed out. "My memorization skills are awesome."

"We'll deal with that soon," Dean promised. "First, I think we all need some rest."

He looked over at Cas, who was stumbling a little as exhaustion overtook him. Dean reached out and brushed his fingers against the back of Cas's hand, and the former angel grabbed onto Dean's hand, interlocking their fingers together.

"No regrets?" Dean asked, just to be sure.

"Never," Castiel promised him.

They all walked back to the bunker with the sun setting at their backs.

* * *

"What do you mean, she's dead?" Crowley spat.

"I mean she was murdered," the messenger stuttered. "I found her body in a church, along with a few others."

Crowley slammed his fist into the table. The Gates of Hell closing—that was a pisser. It cut his army by two thirds. But Naomi? That was personal. That meant revenge.

"Who killed her?" He asked.

"I'm not sure," the messenger replied. "But I think it was Castiel or possibly Dean Winchester."

Crowley nodded to himself. "Dismissed," he said.

As the messenger left, Crowley checked himself in the mirror. He looked impeccable.

Stowing away his thoughts of revenge for later, he opened the door into the meeting hall. The attendees rose to their feet as he walked past them to take his place at the head of the hall.

"The time has come," he told them. "No more shall we remain in the shadows, begging for scraps. Heaven has fallen and we are without opposition." He smiled. "The Old Gods shall rise once again!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Crowley's smile grew shark-like.

Oh yes. The time was at hand.

Let the reign of Crowley begin.


	20. The Delicate Politics of Pagan Gods

**In which the pagan gods are a little tired of humanity ignoring them, and the Winchesters are about to pay a heavy price for standing in their way…**

* * *

Dean entered the bunker, slamming the door behind him and resting against it. "You won't believe the day I just had."

"Try me," Monday called up. She was sitting with Cas and Kevin watching Bugs Bunny cartoons. About a week ago Dean, Sam and Cas had dealt with a hunt that involved cartoon characters (long story), and they had learned that Cas didn't know about the Looney Tunes.

Cue the Bugs Bunny marathon.

Dean made his way down the steps. "Cas," he said. "Guess who I just ran into."

"I presume it is a mutual acquaintance of ours," Cas said, never taking his eyes off the screen.

"Of course, you know, this means war," Kevin and Monday said together in horrible Bugs Bunny voices in time with the character on the screen.

"Death," Dean said.

Monday looked up. "What now?"

Dean ignored her. "Death, Cas. He found me in the grocery store. In the cereal aisle."

"That reminds me, did you get Captain Crunch?" Monday asked.

"Death?" Cas asked, looking up at Dean. "Why would he want to talk to you?"

"Well I guess with all the demons being confused and stuck in Hell and nobody to rule them, Death took over," Dean said. "He wanted to tell me that he's re-judging all of the souls stuck down there. About half of them will be reaped up to Heaven."

"That's good," Cas said. "Death is an impartial judge and quite fair in his rulings."

"He's got a soft spot for Chicago," Dean noted.

"A little sentimentality is a good thing," Cas replied. "Like Sherlock Holmes."

Dean frowned. "How do you know—" He caught sight of Monday's guilty face. "Did you show him Sherlock Holmes _without me_?"

"You were busy," Monday replied.

Dean rolled his eyes but ruffled her hair as he went around to the front of the couch. "Scoot over."

Monday moved over, giving Dean room to plop down next to Cas. The former angel immediately leaned into Dean's side, allowing Dean to put an arm around him. Since becoming human, Cas had become an even bigger snuggler than before. Dean had found that he actually didn't mind.

Helping Cas learn about being human had been an adventure, to say the least. For one thing, Cas was grumpy about almost everything. Going to the bathroom. Brushing his teeth. Making the bed. Taking a shower.

Actually, Dean had managed to show Cas the fun side of taking a shower.

Eating was an adventure. Cas wanted to try everything, including odd flavor combinations like lemon and chocolate or beets and cayenne. Cas ended up not liking a lot of them, but he was determined to try. He was also annoyingly environmentally conscious, insisting on organic, free-range, chemical-free everything. Dean had thrust the guy onto Sam when he learned this, figuring they could be health nuts together. However Cas's favorite meal, hands down, was still burgers. Dean might have spent some time using Monday as a taste tester in order to perfect his burger recipe before making one for Cas. He also might have bribed Monday into secrecy using cinnamon rolls. It was definitely worth it for the sounds Cas made when he ate.

"So, did your little chat with the ultimate Reaper make you forget to buy me Captain Crunch?" Monday asked.

"I told you I wasn't going to the grocery store, I was going to restock on ammo," Dean said. "You want cereal you can go get it yourself."

"Can I use the Impala?"

"Are you stepping over my dead body?" Dean replied. "Take one of the cars from the bunker's garage."

"Dean?" Sam walked into the room. "It's your turn to make dinner."

"Sam, will you get me Captain Crunch?" Monday asked.

Sam looked at Dean.

"I told her she wants something, she can go get it."

"I'll come," Kevin said, getting up off the couch.

"Can you get some tomatoes while you're at it?" Sam asked.

"You want something, you can go get it," Monday said, lowering her voice in a clear mockery of Dean.

Sam gave Dean a bitchface. "You know she gets this from you."

Dean held up his hands in a _don't blame me _gesture. Sam sighed, but followed Monday and Kevin out to the garage. Dean looked at the clock. It was getting close to dinnertime—and after being surrounded by food at the grocery store, he knew Sam and the others would come back hungry.

"Cas, let me up," he said. Cas was lightly dozing by now. "I have to start on dinner."

"Five more minutes," Cas replied.

"Nuh-uh," Dean said, dislodging himself from underneath Cas. He had to dodge Cas's grabby octopus limbs but he managed to stand, holding out a hand to pull Cas upright. Cas took the offered hand with a grumble, letting Dean pull him to his feet. The action made them practically nose-to-nose and Dean grinned, pecking Cas on the lips before dragging him by the hand into the kitchen.

Cas huffed. "You think you're adorable, don't you?"

"I know I'm adorable," Dean replied, letting go of Cas's hand in order to start grabbing ingredients and utensils. "Help me start on the salad."

Cas rolled his eyes—fucker was getting sassier every passing day—but took out a knife and started slicing lettuce. Dean still hated salad but Sam insisted on rabbit food at least once a day and somebody had to get something healthy into Monday. She might not be a nephilim anymore but the sweet tooth had stayed and if nobody else was going to teach her healthy eating habits, well, Dean would just have to step up to the plate. She actually obeyed him now.

Sometimes.

Okay, about two out of every ten times but it was better than one out of twenty, which was how it had been before. Neither of them spoke about Monday's trip to Heaven. She told them what had happened, as well as the information Gabriel had given her about the Old Gods, but that was it. She'd never talked about it again, and Dean was fine with that. He didn't like to think about it much himself.

While Cas chopped up vegetables, Dean got started on glazing the salmon. He'd really come to enjoy cooking while at the bunker. Sure, he'd cooked in one way or another most of his life, but that was more in the vein of warming up a can of Chef Boyardee or getting fancy with the Hamburger Helper—although there was that one time Dean had stolen a steak from the grocery store for Sam's birthday (dad had been absent on a wendigo hunt). Now that they were in a place with a nice kitchen, Dean was actually able to stretch his cooking muscles and found that he liked it.

The next half hour or so passed in relative silence as they worked. One thing about Cas being human, though, was that he craved touch. He was a massive cuddler, but he also enjoyed more simple forms of contact. Just so long as he got to touch Dean frequently, he was fine.

One time, about a week and a half after he'd fallen, Cas had woken up from a nightmare. It wasn't the first nightmare he'd had since becoming human, but it was the first one where Dean wasn't there. Dean had been unable to sleep, images of sliding the archangel blade through Monday popping up every time he closed his eyes, so he'd gone into Monday's room to read and watch over her. Sam had come into the room, exhausted, and informed Dean that Cas was tearing up the bunker looking for him and could he please calm him down before Sam lost his mind?

The moment Cas saw Dean he had wrapped himself around the hunter, not letting go for the rest of the night. Even into the next day, he'd stuck close to Dean's side.

Cas had a hard time during hunts as well. He was a great hunter as far as taking down the monster went, that was true, but he was hopeless at interrogations (he'd once interrogated a cat) and sometimes forgot he couldn't just smite something out of existence. The first time Dean had gotten injured after Cas was human the guy had a massive panic attack because he couldn't heal Dean the way he used to, and his stitching abilities still needed a lot of work. But he was a fast learner, and at least he now knew how to pull out his FBI badge right side up.

Thing was—not that Dean would ever admit it—he liked this cuddly, slightly romantic side of Cas. The guy wasn't into roses or candlelit dinners, thank God, but he liked holding hands and watching movies together and going on hikes, just the two of them, in the surrounding forest. So Dean let the guy come up and slip his arms around Dean's waist from behind, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder. He pressed kisses to the side of Cas's neck as he passed by him in the hallway or while Cas was reading in the library. He laid his head in Cas's lap and let the guy play with his hair while he watched _Dr. Sexy_. If anybody noticed (and Sam definitely did) they were smart enough not to say anything, and Dean just soaked it all up, trusting that for once, something good had happened to him.

Cas set the salad in the fridge just as Dean turned the rice down to a simmer. "Salmon still has another half hour," he said. "Do you want—"

Cas stuck his fingers in Dean's belt loops and tugged him forward, coaxing his mouth open and kissing him deeply.

Dean had enjoyed teaching Cas about being human. Tying his shoes, driving the car, taking showers… but his favorite thing had been the sex. Apparently, now that Cas was human, he could feel things more intensely then he'd ever been able to as an angel. Furthermore, he didn't have complete control over his body anymore. Now Cas did things like sneeze, twitch, and shiver—often with an annoyed look. The first time he'd caught cold had been hilarious. At first he'd been convinced that he was dying and had gone to Sam so that Dean wouldn't have to suffer watching him. When Sam had explained what a cold was and that humans got them all the time, Cas had avoided Dean because he was a stubborn bastard and embarrassed at himself. Dean had been forced to track the guy down, wrestle him into bed, and practically sit on him to keep him there.

But what all this meant for Dean's sex life was that one, Cas felt everything times five and two, he couldn't perfectly control his body anymore.

Dean had taken this as an invitation to make Cas lose his goddamn mind.

Whether it was entirely Dean's fault, as Sam claimed, or a part of being human and dealing with human biology, as Kevin had suggested, Cas was a lot hornier. He'd jump Dean anywhere, anytime, and was fucking desperate for it.

Like right now, in the kitchen.

Dean backed Cas up against the island and slid a knee in between Cas's legs, making Cas whine and grind down onto it.

"This is so unsanitary," Dean muttered, undoing his shirt.

"You want to stop?" Cas replied.

Mentally cursing his libido, Dean hoisted Cas up onto the island counter. "Not a chance," he growled.

* * *

Monday was helping Kevin carry a heavy box of groceries when her phone rang. "Krissy, hi!" She said, dropping her end of the box. "No, I'm not doing anything."

Kevin swore as the box fell onto his toes. "Just tell her you're head over heels for her and get it the fuck over with."

Monday flipped him off and kept chatting.

Sam walked up. "What's going on?"

"Krissy called," Kevin answered.

Sam helped Kevin pick up the box again, which was fine until they reached the car and Sam had to try and get the keys out of his pocket while simultaneously holding the heavy box.

"Here, let me help!"

Two small hands slipped underneath the box and hoisted it up, holding it in place. Sam looked up—and froze.

"Sarah?"

Sarah Blake gaped at him. Aside from the shock, she was as beautiful as ever. Her hair wasn't in braids anymore, instead hanging loose around her shoulders, and she was wearing a brown jacket with a plaid inner lining. "Sam?"

"You two know each other?" Kevin asked.

"Hi Sarah!" Monday waved.

Sarah stared incredulously. "She found you, then."

"You know Monday?"

"She ran into men when she was tracking you and Dean down," Sarah explained.

Sam unlocked the Impala's trunk and Kevin and Sarah got the groceries in. "Not that I'm not glad to see you," Sam said, "But what are you doing here?"

"Oh, Monday didn't tell you?" Sarah grinned, hands on her hips. "I'm a hunter. Have been since a little while after you guys left town."

"Wait, what?" Sam could hardly believe his ears. "You're a hunter?"

"Pretty good one too, if I can say so myself," Sarah said with a grin.

"What are you doing in town?" Sam asked.

"This might sound a little weird," Sarah said, "But I'm hunting down some Old Gods. I noticed it a while back—minor gods revolting, strange natural disasters and misfortunes that correspond to gods in various mythologies—and I started trying to track them. I think there's some kind of war going on, maybe between the gods, or perhaps an uprising of some kind?"

Kevin stared. "You figured all this out on your own?"

"Yes," Sarah said. "Why?"

"It took an archangel giving them a blueprint to figure it out," Kevin said, jerking his thumb at Sam.

"So there is something going on?" Sarah asked. "I'm not losing my mind?"

"Definitely not," Sam said. "It's an uprising. We've got a place nearby—if you want to follow us, we can debrief you. I know Dean'll be glad to see you."

Sarah laughed softly. "I don't remember Dean being all that keen on me."

"Are you kidding? He told me to marry you," Sam said. That made his chest ache, but he tried to ignore it.

Monday hung up. "Krissy says hi."

"I'm sure she does," Sam replied. "Get in the car."

"I'll follow you guys," Sarah said. "It's good to see you again, Sam."

Sam smiled. "Same."

* * *

"Dean, Dean, _Dean_," Cas was chanting, his hands scrabbling at Dean's back. Dean had one arm around Cas's waist and the other braced on the counter, his face buried into the crook of Cas's neck. His legs trembled with each thrust, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"C'mon, Cas," he groaned. "You're there, I know you're there. Give it to me, angel, I wanna see you."

Cas made a sound that, angelic grace or no, wasn't entirely human, and Dean felt his stomach become warm and sticky. That was all it took and he was coming, bright heat pouring through and out of him, his hips stuttering and body jerking. His knees nearly gave out on him and he had to lean heavily against the counter and into Cas to keep from falling down.

"_Dean!_" Sam let out a horrified, girlish shout.

Dean turned his head.

Sam was standing in the middle of several groceries, apples and cauliflower and cans rolling around on the floor at his feet. He had one hand covering Monday's eyes and another hand covering the eyes of some brunette that looked vaguely familiar, although it was hard to tell with her face covered by Sam's gigantic paw. Kevin had both hands over his eyes and was making tiny squeaking noises.

Dean buried his face into Cas's neck and groaned.

"I am _scarred for life_," Sam shouted. "And so is everyone else!"

"Actually, I think I'm okay," Monday said.

"I'm not okay," Kevin squeaked. "I am various levels of not okay."

"Now Kevin," Monday said. "When a daddy and a daddy love each other very much…"

"All _right,_ all _right_," Dean snapped. "Get out, all of you."

Kevin bolted. Sam continued to hide the brunette's eyes as he led her out of the room, which made him have to let go of Monday. She blinked dazedly, and then looked around the kitchen. "This isn't very sanitary," she noted. "Although I've seen worse. Does this effect our dinner plans?"

Sam returned, grabbed Monday by the elbow, and yanked her out of the room.

* * *

When Dean entered the living room—or the room they'd designated as the living room—he was freshly showered and in a new set of clothes, as was Cas.

Not that it seemed to matter to Sam, who had on the bitchface to end all bitchfaces.

"Dean," Sam said, "You remember Sarah Blake, right?"

"Sarah! Hey!" Dean grinned. He'd liked Sarah a lot, to the point where he wished Sam had gone back to visit her or even brought her along with them. He might not have fallen in so hard with Ruby if she'd been there. He was glad to see her again, although he wasn't as pleased about the circumstances. "Sorry about the, um, back there."

"It's okay," Sarah said, laughing.

Kevin refused to look at Dean or Cas, instead stubbornly looking at a spot on the wall.

"Sarah figured out the Old God uprising," Monday said.

"You did?" Dean asked.

"Yes. I've been hunting for over eight years now," Sarah said.

"Wow." Dean was impressed. "How'd you end up here?"

"Tracking Old Gods, trying to figure out what's going on," Sarah said. "I figure now that we're together we can pool our information."

"All right," Dean said, sitting down. Cas curled in at his side and Dean flung an arm around him, ignoring Sam's wounded glare. "Let's get started then."

* * *

Crowley rubbed at his temples.

He missed his demon masseuse. Not even a few months ago and he could have snapped his fingers and had one of his trained demons working away at those knots and kinks in his back. But no, now he had to handle things himself. The only masseuse around was Ganymade and Zeus was far too selfish to spare the boy.

Waste of talent, Crowley thought.

Organizing his fellow gods was turning out to be a lot harder than he'd anticipated. He'd known that recruiting them all would take a lot of work, but he'd figured that once they were all fighting for a common cause they would put aside their differences for the time being.

Oh, had he been mistaken.

Athena and Aphrodite hated each other. As in, don't put them in the same room together. A good deal of it had to do with their differing philosophies in life but there was also the tiny matter of Hephaestus having a massive, centuries-long crush on Athena. Now Athena wasn't having any of it and really, Crowley didn't see why Aphrodite would care seeing that she was regularly banging Ares but for whatever reason, she did, and it rankled.

The Hindu gods and the Chinese gods? Don't even get him started. They were united in that they disliked Buddhism for usurping them and taking followers, but that was the only thing they agreed on. It certainly didn't help that Kali, a huge influence on her fellow gods, had gone MIA right before he'd gone to recruit her and hadn't been heard from since. The Aztec gods were out for blood, there were so many North American gods he couldn't keep track and kept calling them each by the wrong names which insulted them, and they were constantly in-fighting and the Great Spirit wouldn't get them in line because he wanted them to learn how to 'work things out for themselves' or some such bollocks, Coyote had teamed up with Anansi and the two were stirring up trouble among all of the gods just for a laugh, Zeus and Hera had fought _again_ and were using Hermes as a go between (rather attractive guy, Crowley might have to ask him out for drinks when he had a spare moment), and the ancient gods, the first gods, were disgruntled and saying they weren't getting their due and the other whippersnappers should show them more respect.

The Norse gods were strict as all get out, Thor being the king of the tight asses with his speeches about honor and courage, which put them at odds with the Greek gods who just wanted the job done no matter what—although at least the Norse gods were united. The Greek gods had the worst infighting of all the pantheons. The Polynesian gods were easy to work with and agreed to most everything but they were lazy and didn't do anything unless you told them three times and then kept reminding them about it. The Inuit gods never said anything, just glared, the Japanese spirit-gods had all of these rules and regulations they had to abide by and wouldn't do anything unless some kind of ritual had been performed first to ensure that it was the right thing to do, and the new age Roman gods were too busy having orgies to care about anything. The original Roman gods, the ones they'd had before the Romans started stealing everyone else's gods, were pretty pissed at being usurped and ignored and hated everybody.

The Egyptian gods… Crowley didn't mess with them much. He had their allegiance and that was what mattered.

No, he wasn't scared of them.

Shut up.

Luckily he didn't need most of them. Oh, he needed their allegiance. He needed to know that they would fight for him and listen to him. He could give them little assignments that were tailored to their place in the pantheon and their abilities. But what he really needed were just a handful—a trusted few that could stand at his side and shoulder the fight for him.

And he'd found them.

His old friends from the Assyrian days were more than willing to lend a hand—except for Ishtar and her sister. But then, he'd kind of screwed them over (not his fault they didn't read the fine print) so he couldn't blame them. The Haitian gods were all behind him, and he was able to use them to coerce the various African deities.

And then there was his greatest lieutenant.

Now, many wouldn't have seen him as a huge asset. They would have chosen Hades, who was known for being level-headed and for having a stable marriage. No, don't laugh, that's a rare thing among the gods. They probably would have approached Thor at some point, who had taken over the Norse pantheon after Lucifer snuffed Odin. Or they might have tried to approach Isis, although that was tricky. They certainly would have wanted Kali, but again she had vanished and Crowley wasn't going to bother looking for her.

There was a knock at his office door.

"Come in," Crowley said.

His second-in-command entered. "You sent for me?"

Crowley smiled. "You've been doing such good work," he said. "I have a special assignment for you."

"Oh?"

Crowley tapped the picture on his desk and slid it towards his compatriot. "I need you to find them. Don't kill them all—I'm rather fond of the brothers and that former angel. But the other two—and any others with them—are expendable."

"What exactly do you wish for me to do?"

Crowley sat back in his throne. "Give them a little warning to stay away."

His lieutenant nodded. "It shall be done."

* * *

"Great, Charlie. You're the best," Dean told her. "Hey, that Gilda treating you right? Uh-huh. Wait, you rode a dragon?" Dean looked up at Sam and pointed at the phone. "Charlie rode a dragon!"

"That's what happens when your girlfriend is queen of the fairies," Sam pointed out.

"Thanks again, Charlie. Yeah, you too. Bye." Dean hung up. "Charlie's got us a lead."

"What kind of lead?" Sarah asked. She'd fit in seamlessly with the group, going on missions to fight the Old Gods as well as showing her mettle on regular hunts. Maybe Dean was being crass but he hoped someday Sarah would fill the gap in Sam's life. That is, if she didn't die first. Sam really had bad luck with the women.

Dean grinned. "She found the location of their base of operations."

* * *

"What do you _mean_ I can't go?" Monday protested, following Dean around the motel room.

"I mean you're lucky I let you come with us this far instead of staying in the bunker," Dean replied.

"This is Old Gods, Dean! I know Old Gods! I can handle myself!"

"You are not going and that's final," Dean ordered. He wished she were still a nephilim so he could trap her in holy fire and make _sure_ she wouldn't come with them. He didn't put it past her to sneak out and follow them.

Sam, Sarah and Kevin entered the room. "What's all the fuss about?" Sam asked.

"Monday wishes to join us in the attack," Cas said, "And Dean has informed her she's staying here as backup."

"Backup? What kind of backup?" Monday said. "I'm useless back here and he knows it! He's being paranoid!"

"Kevin, you're keeping an eye on her," Dean said, flinging a duffel over his shoulder. "All right, let's head out."

"Dean!" Monday protested. "This is unfair! I'm an adult, you can't—"

Dean slammed the door on her protests.

They had just reached the Impala when Monday managed to get the motel window open. "I am getting you for this Dean Winchester!" She shouted. "I'm going to hex your—" her next words were muffled as Kevin got a hand around her mouth, "—fall off!" Monday finished, before Kevin yanked her back into the room and slammed the window shut.

"That's A+ parenting right there," Sam said as they climbed into the car.

"Shut up," Dean replied.

* * *

Monday and Kevin were in the middle of a fierce game of War when there was a knock at the door.

"Maintenance."

They looked at each other and simultaneously reached for the guns. "It's unlocked," Monday called.

The door opened and Monday fired the gun, blasting the person with rock salt.

"Kind of preemptive, don't you think?" Kevin asked.

Monday reloaded. "Better to shoot the wrong person then die 'cause we needed to check IDs."

The person stumbled back, their eyes flashing gray. "Foolish child," he spat.

"See?" Monday said. She lifted her hand and chanted, causing a ball of fire to spit out of her palm and throw itself at the man.

Two new people suddenly came hurling through the window, landing amid the shattered glass and glaring at them. The man at the door was wounded but not down for the count, and two more people entered behind him. That made five to two—not good odds, but they'd worked with less.

"Old Gods?" Kevin asked.

Monday nodded.

"I see our reputation proceeds us," one man said. He was tall and dark haired, and his smile was chilling.

Monday cocked her head in a manner very reminiscent of Cas, narrowing her eyes as she watched the man move about the room. "Morpheus," she said.

The man paused. "Very good, Monday." He nodded at Kevin. "And the prophet."

Morpheus crooked two of his fingers and the other four men—or rather, gods—came forward.

"I am sorry for this, but duty calls."

Monday raised her hand again and began chanting, only to have a crippling pain strike her in the abdomen. She fell to her knees, curled up in a ball.

"The Nosoi are so helpful, don't you think?" Morpheus asked. "They don't talk much, but then, I'm not one for conversation myself." He looked down at Monday. "That's inflamed intestines I believe you're experiencing."

"Fuck… you… too," Monday spat, blood appearing on her lips.

Kevin fired his gun, hitting one of the Nosoi and knocking it backwards, but the other two grabbed him and held him down. Monday laid herself on the ground and began faking a seizure. If she could just reach her backpack…

"One should be enough," Morpheus said. He nodded at Kevin. "Kill him."

Monday sat up, which made her feel dizzy and her stomach give a vicious cramp, and tried to scramble to her feet. "No!"

She closed her eyes at the last instant, but she could feel the blood spray over her, soaking her shirt and coating her face. She crawled blindly on the floor, finally reaching her backpack. She grabbed the first hex bag she laid hands on and flung it at the two Nosoi holding Kevin.

The hex bag went off, poisonous fumes making the skin of the Nosoi bubble. They shrieked and let go of Kevin, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

"Hold her," Morpheus said, as if he was bored with the proceedings.

Monday growled and leaped for him, but the Nosoi were faster and pinned her to the floor. "The Winchesters are going to kill you—and if they don't, I will."

Morpheus looked down at her, face filled with pity. "You may keep thinking that."

* * *

Dean swept his flashlight over the empty building. "I don't understand," Cas said, squinting into the darkness. They had to get the guy some glasses. "Charlie said this was the location, yes?"

"Maybe she was mistaken?" Sarah said.

"Charlie's not mistaken," Dean said.

"Do you think it's a trap?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, but I don't like it." Dean frowned, seeing something flash in the darkness. "Take a look at this."

There was a large piece of canvas covering something, underneath of which a light flashed. Dean yanked off the canvas to reveal a large table with a few machines, including a computer monitor. The light was coming from one of the machines.

Sam leaned forward and pressed the power button on monitor.

The screen lit up and whirred to life, flashing various blank screens before turning onto a video feed.

"What's is that?" Sarah asked.

"This looks like something out of that one Jodie Foster film," Dean noted.

The video showed a dark room with two beds, a bulky television, a few small dressers, and a door that presumably led to a bathroom. Dean frowned. That room looked familiar.

Cas tilted his head. "Isn't that our motel room?"

Dean's blood ran cold. "We have to get back there, now!" He barked, turning to run.

"Wait." Sam grabbed his arm, forcing him to stay where he was. "We don't know when this was taken, Dean."

"Kevin and Monday are back there," Dean replied. "We have to get to them. This is a trap and they're going to get hurt or worse."

"Hello?"

They all turned back to the screen. A tall, dark haired man stood in front of the camera. He smiled. "I can't see you, but I know you're there. I must say that it's amazing how easily the human mind can be influenced. My compliments to your Miss Charlie Bradbury."

"What did you do to her?" Dean growled.

"Don't worry, I didn't harm her. I merely gave her some suggestions."

There was a blast of light and someone got thrown against the wall, writhing and scratching wildly at their throat. The man turned and looked behind him. "Your girl is a feisty one," he noted. "She got especially feral when we killed her companion."

Dean's throat went dry. "Kevin?"

"He seemed like such a nice boy, too," the man went on. Dean realized that this person, whoever he was, couldn't hear them.

"You motherfucking ignorant stuck up piece of lowly shi—"

Yup, that was Monday all right.

"Bring her here," the man said.

"Who is he?" Sarah asked.

"An Old God," Cas replied. "But I don't know which one."

"Well hurry and figure it out," Dean said. "Why aren't we headed over there?" He demanded.

Monday was hauled up in front of the screen. Her hands were tied and she had a black eye and bloody lip, but otherwise looked pretty okay. Her clothes were stained with blood, but Dean had a horrible feeling it wasn't Monday's blood. She was gagged, but the glare she sent to the man spoke volumes.

"As I said, it's amazing how easily the human mind can be influenced." The man put his hand on top of Monday's head.

"Dean," Sam said. "I need a piece of paper."

"What?"

"Monday. Look at her eyes."

Monday was blinking oddly. Quick, quick, then slow, then slow, then quick…

"Holy shit, she's blinking in Morse code," Dean breathed.

Sam started writing down the letters. M, O, R, P…

"You'll be interested to know that I collect dreams," the man said. "I store them for a rainy day. And with a little bit of effort, I can give someone somebody else's dreams."

H, E, U…

"Let's see what happens when Monday gets some of Dean Winchester's dreams?" The man said. "You two seem so close."

His hand clenched on Monday's head, and wisps of something gray and cloudy swirled around her head. Monday's eyes fluttered before sliding closed and she slid to the ground, out of sight of the camera.

"One dream in particular fascinated me," the man continued. "Forty years is quite a lot of dreaming material, isn't it?" He smiled, cold and remorseless. "So nice talking with you boys. Have a lovely day."

The feed cut out, and Dean started running.

* * *

When they got to the motel room the door was open and the lights were off. Kevin's body lay on the floor, the words BEWARE THOSE WHO DISTURB THE GODS painted on the wall in the prophet's blood.

"Morpheu?" Sam said, staring at his piece of paper. "What is that supposed to mean? Is it an anagram?"

"Add an 's' at the end," Sarah said.

"Morpheus," Cas said. "God of dreams."

Monday was lying down on the bed, twitching and moaning. Dean reached to grab her and her eyes flew open, her pupils tiny pinpricks in her blue eyes. "Don't you fucking touch me," she snarled.

"It's me," Dean replied. "Hey, baby girl, it's me."

"It's me, it's me," Monday mimicked. "Yeah, and you were Dad yesterday. Think I'm going to fall for that one again you—" Her words began a scream and she arched off the bed, her eyes rolling back into her head.

"Cas," Dean said. "Cas. We have to stop it."

"How, Dean?" Sam asked.

"I don't know!" Dean shouted. "Witchcraft, a spell, something!"

"I think we have to let her ride it out," Sam said.

"Sam, she has my memories of _Hell_!" Dean shouted. "Forty years of Hell! And I'm supposed to let her 'ride it out'?"

Monday was twisting around on the bed, as if struggling against invisible chains.

"You have a better idea, you let me know!" Sam replied.

Cas carefully approached the bed, reaching out and touching Monday. She tried to shy away but Cas wouldn't let her, hauling her into his lap and cradling her. Monday thrashed, screaming at for Sam, Sammy, help me, somebody, anybody, Sam, help…

Dean couldn't take it anymore and fled the room.

* * *

Castiel didn't know exactly how long Monday had been going through this, but it had to be a few hours. Sometimes she said things, speaking in a voice that, although higher pitched, perfectly matched Dean's in syntax and tone. But mostly she screamed or groaned—and, on rare occasions, she begged.

Castiel had seen it all before, when Dean was going through it, and he had hoped he would never have to see something like it again. He hoped that his presence might somehow calm her, seeing that he was the one who had saved Dean, but he didn't know how much it was actually helping.

The worst part was when she got to torturing others. Castiel wanted to leave the room, but he couldn't leave Monday alone. Sam and Sarah had put on earplugs and were cleaning things up, but they were shutting Monday out. They couldn't help her.

And then Monday froze.

"Monday?" Castiel whispered.

Monday stood, staring into empty air. Her right hand was clenched and she opened it, relaxing it, as if she were dropping a knife.

"No," she whispered.

"No?" Castiel was confused.

"No." Monday whirled, rounding on someone only she could see. "Get me someone else." She paused, listening to the person's response. "I don't care, I'm not touching him. Get me someone else."

Monday screamed in pain, but she stood firm. "Yes, I want to please you. I want—yes, but—he's my father! He was an asshole but he'll always be my father."

Castiel knew this part. This was what he had interrupted when he'd come down to rescue the Righteous Man.

Dean had been standing up to Alastair for the first time in ten years. He told his surrogate father off, told him that for all of their issues, he wouldn't hurt John Winchester.

And that meant Castiel now had a part to play.

He hauled Monday into his lap, gripping her left shoulder. "The time has come," he whispered. "You are saved."

And just like Dean had Monday thrashed in his arms, fighting with all of her might, screaming that _I'm wasn't worthy, let me go I'm wasn't worthy, take someone else, take someone else you have the wrong person, you've got the wrong guy, you can't take me they'll kill my brother, they'll kill my baby brother, let go let go they'll kill my baby brother, it's too late for me you've got the wrong guy, take someone else I'm not worthy…_

* * *

"Dean."

Sam shook his shoulder. "Dean."

He looked up. "Yeah?"

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's over."

Dean looked at his watch. Monday had been reliving his years in Hell for four hours. Forty years of pain and torture condensed into four hours.

He could hardly imagine.

He followed Sam from the Impala back up to the motel room. Sarah was sitting on the bed, headphones on, papers spread around her as she researched. The room was cleaned up and Kevin's body was in the trunk—Dean had seen Sarah help Sam carry the body out, not faltering once. That girl had steel in her.

Cas was lying on the bed, Monday curled up in his lap. Monday's eyes were closed, but she opened them when she heard Dean enter. She turned toward him, saw who it was, and turned away, burying her face into Cas's chest again.

"Hey," Dean said, stepping toward them.

"Hi," Monday replied, her voice dull and quiet.

Dean looked up at Cas, who shook his head. Dean didn't know what to do, so he did what he'd always done—stuffed it all down. He started grabbing supplies. "We're heading back to the bunker," he said. "We'll have Kevin's funeral there."

Cas stood, Monday still in his arms, and headed out. "We'll talk," he mouthed at Dean as he passed him.

* * *

Cas explained once he got Monday down in her bed and asleep.

"She was you, Dean," Cas explained. "She saw everything from your point of view. She saw Alastair, and Bela, and your father. She saw me."

"That means I can help her," Dean protested. "I've been through what she has, literally."

"That's the point, Dean," Cas told him. "She experienced your memories. She feels as if she violated—"

"How the hell can she think—"

"It's what she feels, Dean," Cas protested.

"Well it's stupid," Dean replied.

Cas sighed. "Just give her some space, Dean. She'll come around."

* * *

'Coming around', apparently, took a week.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up and smiled tentatively. "Hey, baby girl."

Monday tried to smile but failed. "I just wanted to let you know, I'm going to stay with Krissy for a while."

Dean's smile faded. "What?"

"I miss Krissy, and I've decided to spend some time with her… away from it all."

Dean frowned. "Is this about—"

"It's about a lot of things," Monday said. "Heaven, Adam, Kevin, Morpheus,"

Dean stood up and reached out to her, but Monday backed out of his reach. "It's okay, Monday," he told her.

"I just need some time," Monday whispered. "Can I just take some time?"

Dean swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, you can take some time."

Monday nodded. "Okay then. I'll leave in the morning."

* * *

"Excellent work," Crowley told Morpheus. "Hopefully that will be enough of a deterrent."

"They'll be back, of course," Morpheus said.

"Oh, of course they will. They're Winchesters." Crowley touched the tips of his fingers together. "But they'll be reeling enough for now. Shame—I liked that little prophet. But, business is business."

He stood. "Time to call a general assembly. We make our big strike soon."

* * *

"Monday!" Dean called, making his way through the bunker. He frowned. "Cas? Where is she?"

"She left."

Dean checked the clock. "It's morning, Cas. She said she was leaving this morning."

"She did leave," Cas said. "At about five a.m."

"And you didn't wake me?"

"She didn't want me to. I was the only one she wanted to say goodbye to."

Dean sank back against the wall. "I see," he said.

Cas laid a hand on his shoulder. "It will be all right, Dean."

Dean swallowed. "We're going to catch that son of a bitch," he said.

Cas slid into his arms, letting Dean tuck his chin over Cas's shoulder. "We will," he promised. "And she'll come back, Dean. She just needs some time."

* * *

Krissy grinned and waved as the car pulled up. "Didn't expect to see you so soon," she admitted as Monday got out. "Everything okay?"

Monday shrugged. "Everything's—everything's good."

"Uh-huh." Krissy held out her arms. "Sure it is."

Monday took one look at Krissy's outstretched arms, stepped into them, and started sobbing.


	21. O Hallowed Halls

**Monday gets back into the swing of hunting when she helps Krissy investigate the suspicious goings-on at Krissy's college, and Sam deals with his feels for Sarah.**

* * *

"Holy—" Sam nearly arched off the bed, scrabbling in the sheets to try and hold on. His chest heaved, sweat slowly running down it. "Don't—oh _God_—if you don't stop I'm gonna—shit, shit!"

The dark head of silky hair spread over his thighs, tongue running up the vein on the underside of his cock as spit-slick lips moved up and down. Sam groaned, nails digging into the sheets, twisting them and making them damp. He could feel it building up inside of him and he tried to lift his hips—and his companion up but she was having none of it, forcing him to stay down on the bed and _holy fuck_ hollowing out her cheeks and oh _God_—

Sarah's green-hazel eyes flicked up to meet his, her lips red and swollen. She scraped her teeth gently over the skin, and he could tell she was smiling.

Then she hollowed out her cheeks again and swallowed, and he was fucking done for.

* * *

Sam woke up to crusty boxers, ruined sheets, and a pillow that had ended up on the floor. He blinked several times, trying to even out his breathing. He hadn't had a wet dream that badly since the one about Bela (he still wasn't entirely convinced she hadn't used that African dream root on him).

He fell back against the covers, feeling guilt creep in.

Shit.

* * *

Monday woke up screaming.

"Whoa! Hey! Whoa!"

Krissy slid over, wrapping her arms around her. "You're okay. You're awake. I'm right here. It's all okay."

Monday breathed heavily, shivering. The dream had felt so real—but then, then always felt real. The fire, the smell of sulfur and brimstone, the meat hooks biting into her flesh and the touch of the demon…

At least the nightmares were fewer now, and she could actually sleep in a bed. When she'd first had them, they'd been every night, and the sexual ones had been in there as well. She'd wake up, realize she was in a bed, think Alastair was going to come in any minute, and subsequently she would go berserk.

But now the dreams were fading. They came only about once a week or so, and they were less distinct. They were no longer specific episodes from the memories—just jumbled scenes and impressions. They felt real and inescapable, but they weren't as bad as they had been.

Monday clung to that knowledge.

Krissy helped. She'd let Monday sleep in bed with her, ready to hug and comfort whenever Monday woke up like this. Monday knew it couldn't be easy, having a bedmate that shook and moaned in her sleep and woke up once a week screaming loud enough to wake the entire dorm. Luckily Krissy's dorm mates had bought the story that Monday had lost her parents in a terrible fire and was suffering PTSD.

"I'm okay," Monday said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Krissy told her. She kissed her cheek and slipped out of bed. "I have class in half an hour anyway."

Monday watched Krissy saunter around the room half-dressed. They hadn't yet discussed what they were or taken any official steps, and Monday knew it was her fault. Unless she'd been reading Krissy entirely wrong. They'd talked on the phone all the time when she'd been with Dean and Krissy had been away, and now that Monday was with Krissy they spent nearly every waking moment together. They even shared a bed. But they hadn't gone past clinging hugs and kisses on the cheek, and they certainly hadn't discussed anything.

She'd have to be the one to say something, she knew. She was the one dealing with PTSD from something someone _else_ went through. She was the one who wasn't calling her dad. She was the one refusing to talk about things.

She just had to work through this. She'd been through worse. Hell, she'd literally raised herself. She could get through this alone, too. She'd be fine.

Just… not yet.

* * *

Sarah laid a hand on his shoulder as she handed him coffee. "Morning sunshine," she teased, moving past him. Sam tensed, taking a large gulp of the coffee and burning his tongue.

"Fuck!"

"You okay there?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, fine," Sam spluttered. The last thing he needed was Dean finding out about his thoughts concerning Sarah.

Sam couldn't decide which side of the fence he was on. On the one hand, Sarah was amazing. Perfect, even. He'd known that back when he first met her. But he'd been mourning Jess and hellbent on revenge, so he'd walked away.

It seemed they were always doomed to meet when his almost-wife died.

And the fact that it happened twice in his life was a testament to how pretty fucked up his entire life was.

But he couldn't deny—Sarah was fantastic. She made him laugh, had a quick wit, was intelligent, practical and down-to-earth… if Sam were to make a list of all the traits he liked in a woman, Sarah was the only one who fit the entire bill besides Jess. And Jess, well, she was in a separate category.

And he knew Dean was pushing for it. His brother might have thought he was subtle but the fact was Dean Winchester was about as subtle as a stampeding elephant. Sam knew what those _oops you and Sarah went on a hunt alone again_ and _yeah Cas and I are tired you guys see the movie on your own_ moments were.

The other side of the fence, though, that was screaming pretty loudly.

He'd lost every girl he'd ever loved in one way or another. What if he lost Sarah too? And Amelia—he'd lost Amelia six months ago. Wasn't he supposed to wait for longer than that?

And then there was the part of him that said Amelia would want him to find someone else, to be happy. But what kind of selfish jerk was he, to move on so quickly and so callously?

Was he being callous?

Fuck, everything was upside down and inside out. He needed someone to talk to about this.

Dean was out of the question, seeing he was biased.

Charlie offered good advice but she was also a sneaky little thing and he didn't trust her not to blab to Dean.

Becky and Garth? Hell no.

Castiel was a good option, normally, but Cas's relationship expertise consisted of fucking Sam's big brother and being annoyingly devoted to said big brother, so no, not in this case.

Wait.

What if?

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said. "Would you guys be okay if I went on a short trip?"

"How short?" Dean asked.

"Just a couple days. I want to drive up to New York, check on things at Sonny's."

Dean gave him a suspicious look. Damn older brothers who raised you and knew your every facial expression. "Why do you want to go there?"

"I haven't seen Jody in forever," Sam said.

"You know she's engaged to Sonny, right?"

"Not like that, Dean, gross," Sam replied. "She's like a mom to me, you know that. I just want to see her and say hi, catch up—I'll let you know how Timmy and the others are doing."

Dean didn't look entirely convinced, but he shrugged and gave in. "All right. Just keep in touch."

"Thanks."

If Jody couldn't help him sort this out, nobody could.

* * *

"…and look! The Cross Country team is first, too!" Krissy said, jabbing at the yearbook. "I'm telling you, this isn't normal."

"Your college has five hundred students and is in the middle of nowhere," Monday said. "And they're in first place in every sports division and winning international science awards? Sounds like witchcraft to me."

Krissy snorted. "More like a crossroads demon. I'm guessing someone on the administrative staff, maybe a trustee."

"The demons are locked up in Hell," Monday pointed out. "And Death released all crossroad contracts."

"All right, coven it is." Krissy pulled out the student register. "Who do you think?"

"If we cross reference who's friends with who's in what sport or active in an area of the school that's successful…" Monday said, peering over Krissy's shoulder.

Krissy looked up at her. "You okay with this?"

Monday stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"With this, with hunting. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Krissy arched her eyebrows but didn't say anything, turning back to the student register.

* * *

Sam tried not to fidget in his chair. Jody narrowed her eyes at him. "Sam Winchester," she said, "What am I going to do with you?"

Sam shrugged.

Jody sighed. "Well, first off—do you like the girl?"

"Of course. I mean, she's great. She's really, really great."

"No, I mean, do you _like_ her." Jody leaned to her left and shouted down the hallway. "Knock it off!"

Sam frowned. "I didn't hear anything."

"Exactly. Sneaky little bastards," Jody said affectionately. "What I mean, Sam, is this just lust? Because that could be it."

"No, no I…" Sam shifted in his seat. "I, um, don't really go for that."

Jody arched her eyebrows. "You're human, aren't you?"

"No, I mean—I mean I, uh, don't do the one night stands thing. Except once, that was—that was a weird weekend." Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, I like her. I really like her."

"You're articulate," Jody said dryly. "All right then. So you want to date her. Take her out dancing, that kind of thing."

Sam nodded.

"Well, that makes it easier." Jody leaned back. "Ask the girl out."

"But—but—did you not," Sam waved his hands in the air and knew he looked like an idiot, but he couldn't seem to make the words connect and form complete sentences.

Jody leaned forward. "Sam," she said, her voice gentle and motherly, "You've had it hard with love. I won't pretend otherwise. But you've learned something each time, haven't you? You've grown. And you did love. You gave with all of your heart, and sometimes that's all that matters in this world."

Timmy and two other boys ran through the kitchen, laughing and chasing each other. "No running in the house!" Jody called after them, but she was smiling. "You think I waste my time with these children, wondering if I have a right after losing my husband and son?"

A teenage girl entered the kitchen, pausing when she saw Sam.

"It's all right, Double A," Jody said.

"Double A?" Sam asked.

"My legal name's Annie, but I was called Alex for a few years," the girl said. "So they call me Double A."

"I'm Sam," Sam said, standing and shaking her hand.

"Sam's an old friend," Jody explained.

"Jody's too modest," Sam said. "She's the mom I never had."

"From what Bobby tells me, that's what your brother was."

"No, see, Dean was the mom I _did_ have," Sam joked.

Alex Annie smiled. "Jody's the best." She turned to Jody. "Should I call the boys in for dinner?"

"Sure."

Jody's eyes tracked the girl as she left the room. "Sonny and I are going to adopt her once the wedding's taken care of," she said. "We haven't told her yet—don't want to get her all excited in case something falls through."

"You seem really happy," Sam said.

"I am." Jody smiled at him. "And you should be, too."

She patted his hand. "Now c'mon and have dinner with us, and then go get your girl."

* * *

Monday examined herself carefully in the mirror.

She wasn't bad looking as far as natural features went. Sure, she was skinny, and her body had never even heard of curves, but she had a pretty face and she was proud of her breasts. No, she wasn't bad to look at, not in the slightest.

But then there were the scars.

Her wing scars were on her back, two vicious red lines that ran down either side of her spine. Her burn marks from when she was a child ran down from her elbows to the backs of her hands, and the spidery scar over her heart still glittered slivery blue like an exploding star. That was definitely her oddest scar, but it wasn't the most noticeable. That award went to the hellhound scars, four of them slashing down her face from her right temple to the left side of her chin, with four more at her throat and upper chest. She remembered Amelia telling her she was lucky the claws had missed her eyes or she'd have lost her sight for sure.

Amelia had patched up both the hellhound and the wing scars—Amelia, who was dead and gone.

Monday gripped the edges of the sink as a wave of nausea hit her. When had she been reduced to this? This—this weakling that had nightmares and was scared of the dark and going to sleep and couldn't hunt, couldn't even look her father in the eye?

A weakling that lost her two best friends and the woman who'd saved her life twice—that kind of weakling. And two of those deaths had happened in front of her.

She had a flash of Kevin's dead face, the gushing blood, and she vomited into the sink.

"Monday?"

Krissy's hands were warm at her back. "You all right?"

Monday nodded. "Uh-huh."

They locked eyes in the mirror. "I'm quite a sight, huh?" Monday said, trying to joke.

"I think you're beautiful," Krissy replied.

Monday didn't know what to say to that.

"This?" Krissy tapped the wing scars on Monday's back. "You told me you got these because you wouldn't tell Naomi where Castiel was. And these?" Krissy ran her fingers down the hellhound scars, her touch light. "You got these because you were protecting Dean from Crowley. I remember when you came in with them. We thought you were a goner.

"And this?" Krissy pressed her palm to the scar over Monday's heart. "You sacrificed your life to close the Gates of Heaven. You saved who knows how many people because of that.

"And these marks…" Krissy picked up Monday's wrists, running her thumb over the burn scars. "These were horrible people doing horrible things because they were scared and didn't like what they didn't understand.

"You survived all of this, Monday. You were strong and you stood up and you protected those you loved. You sacrificed for your family—for all of humanity. You never backed down, not once. These?" Krissy ran her fingers down the scars on Monday's face. "These are a part of who you are. They show what a hero you are. And I think they're beautiful."

Krissy's eyes were dark and soft, watching Monday, tracking her movements even as Monday leaned into her. They only stopped watching when their lips brushed together, when they slid closed.

"Is this okay?" Monday whispered.

Instead of speaking, Krissy brought her hand around to the back of Monday's head and smashed their mouths together.

* * *

Sam had to say he'd never been to a more chaotic dinner.

There were about twenty kids of varying ages at the dinner table. Ten or so were monsters of some kind, while another five were hunter's orphans, and the final handful were regular kids snatched from the jaws of juvie. Sonny sat at one end and Sam on the other, with Jody on Sonny's right side and Alex Annie on his left. Between the four of them, they managed to keep the kids under control.

Sort of.

Sam regaled Sonny and Jody with stories of what they'd been up to, careful to edit it so the worst parts were left out. He told a few embarrassing stories about Dean and Cas, like the time they'd all walked in on them in the kitchen, and listened as Jody and Sonny told him all about the crazy things the kids at the home did.

Finally, though, it was time to go.

Sam slid into the car and started it up, waving at everyone crowded on the front porch. He called Dean as he made his way out of town and began talking as soon as he heard the phone pick up.

"Hey, I'm on my way back. Sonny says you owe him a visit next, and Jody gave me cookies. Not sure if I'll let you have some or not."

"Tell Sonny I would love to meet him sometime," Sarah's voice came over the phone.

Sam nearly drove the car into a ditch. "I thought you were Dean."

"He's got his hands full, so I grabbed the phone."

"Uh… define, 'hands full'."

"Not like that," Sarah laughed. "Cas just handed him a pile of books taller than he is."

"Right." Sam grinned. "Well I started off pretty late so I'll probably have to stop by a motel on my way back, but I should be there by lunch tomorrow."

"Sounds good. I know I'll be glad to have you back. I'm the third wheel here."

"Trust me, I know how it feels. I spent three years watching them make goo-goo eyes at each other and refuse to admit anything."

"You're such a martyr." Sam could hear Sarah's grin through the phone. "Drive safely then."

"See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight."

Sam found himself grinning like a lunatic as he hung up the phone. Man, he had it badly.

As he drove, he sent up a quick prayer to Amelia. He hoped that she could hear him, and that she was happy. He hoped that Heaven was better now, for angels and human souls alike, and he hoped that this was something she was okay with.

But like Jody said, sometimes love was all we had to hope for in life. It was best to get it while they could.

* * *

Things had gone very, very wrong.

Krissy had insisted on handling the main part of the operation, and Monday was happy to let her. They'd identified the members of the coven, as well as when and where they were meeting. Krissy was smart and armed to the teeth. Monday was confident that they could handle this.

What neither of them had thought to even consider was the kind of ritual the coven would be performing at their meeting.

They also hadn't thought that the coven would strike first.

Fast forward a couple hours later and the result was one abducted hunter plus six witches who hadn't planned on their kidnap victim being so skilled at self-defense, and you had a school building burning down to the ground with seven college girls trapped inside.

And one girl facing the flames.

Monday tried to breathe. She wasn't a nephilim anymore, which made this more dangerous for her to attempt, but that wasn't the issue.

It was _fire_.

Every time she looked into the flames she could feel it on her skin—the heat of Hell, the touch of the knife, of Alastair's fingers. She could see their twisted faces in the flames: hers, Dean's, Alastair's, Castiel's, anyone who'd tortured Dean or been tortured by him in the Pit. She could hear the screams echoing in her ears.

Think. Concentrate. It wasn't real it wasn't real it wasn't _real_. Krissy was real. Krissy was down there, trapped, dying. She had to get to Krissy.

Hands held in front of her face, Monday ran into the building.

The fire roared around her, heat bathing her body and making it hard to breathe. She could hear faint screams and began making her way through, down to the basement. Someone ran at her, screeching something, and Monday chanted and waved her hand to make the girl fling herself to the side. Witches? Monday could deal with witches.

By the time she reached the basement she was certain the entire building was engulfed in flames. She wondered if the fire department was there. The room she was in had been set up as a makeshift coven house, with symbols on the walls and drawn on the floor and small bowls of incense and oil.

And there, in the center of the room—

Monday ran to Krissy, carefully hoisting her up. "Fuck, you're heavy," she grumbled.

"Fuck you," Krissy replied, her voice thick and slow like molasses. Her head rolled around onto Monday's shoulder.

"What did they give you?" Monday asked, struggling to carry the other girl and walk at the same time.

"Dunno," Krissy murmured. "Tasted… sweet."

"Uh-huh." Monday managed to make it to the stairs. Now she'd have to walk back through the inferno. The thought made her want to vomit. But she had to keep Krissy safe. She couldn't fly out, and whatever extra strength she'd once had was gone, but she could do this. She had to do this.

One step. Alastair laughed at her from the center of the flames.

Second step. Dean begged for Sam to save him.

Third step. Her own screams echoed back at her.

Through shadow and smoke, she had to climb. She held onto Krissy as tightly as she could, the other girl passing in and out of consciousness, slurring out a few words here and there that Monday couldn't hear over the roar and cackle of the flames.

_You couldn't save your mother_, someone—maybe Alastair, maybe Dean, maybe herself—whispered.

_You couldn't save Castiel._

_You couldn't save Amelia._

_Weakest link. Worthless child. Castoff. Abomination. Halfling._

She'd reached the top of the stairs. She just had to get to the front door.

_Nobody wants you. You belong here. You're just like us. Pathetic. You belong to the darkness. Just give in. Feel it. Embrace it._

She collapsed halfway across the building, hacking and coughing. "Krissy," she whispered. Her voice sounded strange, dry and raspy, like it didn't belong to her. "Wake up. You—you have to walk, I can't carry you."

Krissy didn't respond. Monday shook her. "No. No, don't you leave me. I'm supposed to save you. It's supposed to be different this time."

A section of the building fell in, sending wood and metal and sparks flying everywhere. Monday bent double, shielding Krissy from the debris. Her tears evaporated as soon as she shed them, and she could hardly breathe for coughing.

There were crashing sounds in the distance. More of the building was coming down.

"_Dean!_" She screamed. She clutched desperately at Krissy. "_Dean! Castiel! Dean!_"

A gigantic shape emerged from the smoke and flame. It was just like the end of her better dreams, the ones where she got to the part where Castiel cut through Hell to get to her.

The figure seemed so alien, so huge and terrifying, and she knew this was how Dean had felt when the Angel of Thursday had come to save him.

"Castiel," she whispered, gazing up at the strange creature.

She passed out, still sheltering Krissy.

* * *

Dean reached over Cas to grab the phone. "Move it, assbutt," he said affectionately.

"That's my line," Cas mumbled sleepily.

"Hello?" Dean said. He frowned. "Yes, this is he. Yeah, I'm listed as her emergency contact. Blood relative? No, I was a friend of her dad's, she's orphaned." He sat up straight. "_What?_"

Cas sat up as well, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Anyone else with her? Yeah, a blonde girl, blue eyed, same age. What? Fuck yes it's my business, that's my fucking daughter. Yes, I'm on my way right now." Dean hung up the phone. "C'mon, we gotta go."

"What happened?" Cas asked, watching as Dean scrambled out of bed.

"There was a fire at Krissy's school. Both Krissy and Monday are in the hospital."

Once he heard that, Cas was out of bed and moving faster than Dean.

* * *

When Sam entered the motel room, he pulled out his phone. Twenty missed calls? What the hell?

He pressed 'redial' and put the phone to his ear.

_Sammy?_

"Dean? Twenty missed calls? What the hell?"

_Monday's in the hospital. Cas and I are going to pick her up. We left Sarah to hold down the fort._

"Hospital? Is she okay?"

_We don't know. There was a fire._

"Was it a hunt?"

_We don't know! She's unconscious, they haven't had a chance to talk to her._

"How'd they know to call you?"

_Krissy's there too. She's out too but the school has me listed as her emergency contact._

"I'm sure they're going to be okay," Sam said. "Remember how many times we've ended up in the hospital for things."

_Yeah, I know._

"Keep me posted."

_You got it._

"And drive safely."

_That's what I've got Cas here for. Freakin' police officer._

Sam chuckled. "Okay."

Dean hung up and Sam sighed, sitting down on the bed. He was certain Krissy and Monday were okay. They were smart girls, both trained by hunters, and they'd come through worse and been fine. But Dean was probably going to worry his way to an early grave over them.

He'd just finished getting ready for bed when he saw that he had a voicemail. Dean had probably called while he was in the shower.

Sam pressed play on the voicemail and flopped down onto the bed.

_Sam…_

That was not Dean.

_This is… probably a really stupid idea, but—couldn't do it in person and, and I thought why the hell not? Y'know? And so—so here we are._

That was Sarah. That was Sarah… moaning. And breathing like she'd just run a marathon.

_Can you tell what I'm doing?_ Sarah's breathing was choppy and he could hear the bed moving underneath her. _Didn't—didn't want to get rejected by you again but then I thought, fuck it—_ She laughed. _I've had a few drinks. Dean and Cas left, so I hit the vodka. Here in this big place all alone, Sam. Just thinking of you. Pretending it's you. Want you so bad, want to—_

The voicemail cut off after that, but Sam was already moving.

Who needed sleep, anyway?

* * *

The world came into focus slowly, by bits and pieces. It wasn't like when she'd died and come back, going from bright light to hey whoa breathing again. This was like emerging from the bottom of the ocean, the water slowly thinning and the light growing, making shapes and sounds identifiable.

"Hey, baby girl."

Monday turned her head, blinking at the harsh light. She ached all over. "Dean?" It hurt to talk and she winced.

Dean smiled down at her, reaching over to smooth her hair away from her face. "Yeah. You've been out for a while. Don't try to talk too much; you've got some smoke damage. Paramedics said you're lucky it wasn't worse."

"Krissy?" Monday asked.

"Up and about, in a manner of speaking," Dean said. "She had some kind of sedative in her but she had less smoke damage than you. Neither of you got burned, which was the hospital's first concern."

"Other… girls…" Monday managed.

"They found six more bodies," Dean said. "You two were the only survivors. What happened?"

Monday tapped her chest.

"You?"

Monday tugged on her earlobe. "Sounds like?" Dean hazarded.

Monday held two fingers close together.

"Close," Dean said. "You, sounds like… like you? They were witches?"

Monday nodded.

"They nabbed Krissy, didn't they."

Monday nodded.

Dean grinned. "And you got her out."

Monday nodded again. It was making her head hurt.

"Here, have some water." Dean helped her to sit up and handed her a cup of water to drink from. "You gotta stop getting yourself into these things, baby girl. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

Monday rolled her eyes.

"Hey." Dean took her hand in his. "We've missed you back home. And I know—I know you needed to work some things out. Probably should have started working out some of those things sooner. But we're still family. And that means we're there for each other. And not just when the bullets are flying, either. When we're scared and scarred and angry and lost, too. You understand that?"

Monday nodded, tears slowly sliding down her face. She'd missed Dean. She'd missed Castiel. She'd missed her family.

"Now, you don't have to talk right away. But I'm here when you're ready. I'm not going anywhere." Dean reached behind him. "Oh. And there was a little bit of confusion with the hospital, so I went ahead and called Charlie. She fixed some things up for us."

He handed Monday a legal document. Most of it was in tiny writing and she didn't bother reading it, but she could understand the heading just fine.

_Proof of Adoption_

And on the bottom, she could make out her name—plus a new addition.

_Monday Evans Winchester_

Monday burst into tears, and let Dean wrap his arms around her.

She'd missed his hugs.

* * *

Sam made his way down the entrance steps, gazing around the bunker. Most of the lights were out or dimmed, which was appropriate for four in the morning. He tossed the keys and his bag onto a table. He'd been raring to go when he'd set out but that was before hours of driving, and Sarah was probably asleep by now, not expecting him until morning.

There was the click of a gun behind his head.

"Don't. Move."

He turned. "Hello to you too, Sarah."

She was wearing an oversized gray t-shirt and blue satin underwear, her hair disheveled. She must've heard him come in and had grabbed the gun, just in case.

"I didn't expect you until morning," she admitted, setting the gun on the table. "Dean said he'd call and tell you what was up."

"Yeah, he called." Sam tried to keep his voice even. "I got an interesting voicemail earlier."

"Oh?" He couldn't tell if Sarah was being coy or was genuinely nervous.

"Yeah. Made me skip on the sleep and drive right back here."

"Did it now?"

She was definitely playing coy now, taking tiny steps back from him. He took a few steps forward. "Care to explain?"

"What's there to explain?" She asked, taking a few more steps back. "I took a gamble."

Sam advanced until Sarah was backed up against the wall. "You think it paid off?"

"I hope so." Sarah smiled, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "So, Sam?" She spread her legs a little bit. "What are you going to do about it?"

What he was going to do about it, as it turned out, was fuck her against the wall.

* * *

Castiel was about to enter the room but paused, seeing that Dean and Monday were still talking.

"The worst part was that—that sometimes I was myself. I wasn't being you on the rack, I was being me on the rack. So when Alastair took me to see my dad, I wasn't Dean seeing John, it was me seeing you. And I—I know it's stupid but I was ashamed because those were your memories, not mine. I felt like I was violating you somehow."

Castiel knocked lightly on the doorframe as he entered. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"No, you're fine," Monday said. There were tear tracks running down her face but she smiled at him.

"I just checked on Krissy," Castiel told them. "She's all set to be checked out."

"The doc said he wanted to give Monday one last check up before he gave her the go ahead," Dean said. "But hopefully she'll be out of here by the end of the day." Dean looked over at Monday. "Then how about the four of us head back to the bunker?"

Monday nodded and Dean squeezed her hand. "Good." He stood up and kissed her on the forehead, then turned to Cas. "And now, I need a strong cup of coffee."

* * *

"We need to clean up before the others get back," Sarah said.

Sam wondered how she was capable of stringing together cohesive sentences when he still couldn't make any sound other than a groan. At least they'd managed to make it to the bed for round two. He turned his head and met her gaze, smiling at her. Sam reached out, running his fingers over the curve of her shoulder, down her side to her hip, feeling the smooth skin.

"You okay?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah," he replied. A part of him wasn't okay, just like a part of him hadn't been okay after Jess, but he could live with that. These things, he'd learned, took time. Which was ironic, considering they didn't have a lot of it.

He pulled her into him, making her giggle when he found a ticklish spot. "We have to pick up," Sarah said, trying to fight him.

"Sleep first," Sam told her, laughing as she slapped at him playfully.

"Fine. But only for a little bit."

Sarah curled up into him, letting him wrap his arms around her and pull them both into sleep.

* * *

Dean stared at the trail of clothes on the floor. "Oh, he is so dead," he vowed. "So very dead."

"After the kitchen debacle? I think this is payback," Monday replied.

"I was wondering how long it would take Sam and Sarah to get together," Cas commented.

"You know what this means, right?" Dean said.

"Um… no?" Monday said.

Dean rubbed his hands together. "Prank war."


	22. Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These

**The lines between what is real and what is not are blurred, and a few personal demons are visited.**

* * *

Monday frowned at herself in the mirror. "Does this corset fit?" She asked.

The person on the bed didn't answer—but then, that was probably the gag stopping them. Monday sighed. She'd have to ask Dean.

She did like the corset a lot, if she did say so herself. It was black with red silk ties and red flowers blossoming all over it, like splotches of blood. It went well with the angry red scar at her heart—the scar that looked like a firework. There was a scar that went around her neck, too, like she'd once had her head cut off and then sewn back on.

"Off with their heads!" Monday murmured, giggling to herself.

The person on the bed behind her made a noise of distress.

"Do stop whining," Monday said, pulling on a pair of denim shorts and black stilettos. "It won't do you any good."

Hmm. She liked her hair down, better to show off the blood-red highlights she'd gotten, but would it look better curled or straightened?

By the time Monday finished curling her hair, the person on the bed had fallen strangely silent and still. She walked over to them, heels making little noise on the lime green motel carpet.

He'd been a young man from the bar last night. He'd said he liked bad girls, and Monday fit that profile better than anyone. They went back to her motel room. She'd certainly had fun with him, even if he hadn't had as much fun with her—tied to the bed and gagged and all.

There was also the matter of how much pain she'd put him in, but that was his problem. He'd wanted a bad girl and he'd gotten one.

The blood had only been a bonus, really. Almost all black magic needed blood of some kind, so when she'd finished with him she'd kept him tied down and slit his wrists, letting the blood drip into bowls she'd strategically placed on the floor.

Cas would take care of the body. He was probably hungry anyway.

Monday exited her motel room and went to knock on the one next door.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Breakfast delivery," Monday replied.

Dean opened the door. His eyes were black, and he had to blink them a couple of times to get them to go back to green. He'd probably just woken up, then. "Why are you such a fucking morning person?" He asked, letting her in.

"Simple. I didn't get any sleep last night."

Cas was sitting up in bed, his gold and black eyes positively gleaming. "You said breakfast?" He asked, his backwards, pointed teeth flashing as he smiled.

"In the next room. He's already dead, unfortunately. I got this new corset and it took me a while to lace up."

Cas got up and went into the next motel room. Even though he was in the body of a man, he still managed to give the impression of slithering when he moved. It was both fascinating and terrifying. Monday had said so, back when she'd first met Cas, but Dean practically worshipped the guy—trusted him implicitly. But she supposed you had to, when you turned your back on Hell and all the demons you swore fealty to and took up with a Leviathan to open the door to Purgatory.

Monday, of course, had come along. What kind of daughter would she be if she didn't stand with her father? She was only half-demon, anyway. She owed no loyalty to Hell. And her black magic had certainly come in handy.

Uncle Sam said that Dean was crazy, but as Dean often said, what did a vampire know? All Sam cared about was fucking his harem, those women (led by Jess, Sam's mate) who fucking worshipped him and got drunk on blood every Sunday.

Although, if Meg was to be believed, Jo had only been persuaded to turn after Jess had spoken to her. Practically sat at Jess's feet all day, Meg said.

Monday found this infinitely hilarious.

The soft sounds of Cas feeding on the corpse in the next room penetrated the air, and Monday had to repress a shiver. She turned towards the mirror to distract herself—and froze.

Looking into the mirror was another girl.

She looked exactly like Monday but—but they couldn't possibly be the same person. The scar on her heart was silvery blue, not red. She had slashes across her face instead of a seam at her neck. Her hair had no red highlights and was pulled back into a simple ponytail, and she wore no-nonsense brown boots, long jeans, a tank top and a plaid overshirt.

"Dean," Monday whispered. When her lips moved, so did the girl's in the mirror. "Come over here."

Dean sauntered over, frowning. "What's up? The corset's great."

"Look in the mirror."

Dean did so. "What?"

"What do you see?"

"Our reflections."

"They don't—they don't look different?"

"No. Should they?"

Dean put the back of his hand to her forehead. "Are you sick? Been dabbling in too much black magic again? I told you, moderation."

Suddenly, the very idea of black magic repulsed her. She didn't do black magic. She thought of the young man in the bed, the one Cas was… oh God. She'd killed him, she'd—she'd worse than killed him, the things she'd done to him…

Monday turned. "Dean."

"Brat," Dean replied. It was said with affection, and Monday both knew it was his nickname for her and that it was wrong.

_Baby girl_, a voice whispered to her.

"Something's wrong. _We're _wrong." Monday couldn't explain it, but she knew it was true. "Castiel—he's wrong. You're—you're wrong, I'm—this isn't how it's supposed to be."

"Hey, hey," Dean said, placing his hands on his shoulders. "It's okay, brat. It's okay. Have you been talking to Sam again? 'Cause I told you he's just going to keep disapproving and—"

"No, it's not that. Sam's wrong too." Monday tried to think, but it was all muddled. "Who is Sam with?"

"Well technically everyone," Dean said. "Biggest slut I've ever seen. But Jess is his mate and runs the nest with him, so I suppose he's with her. Then there's Ruby, Jo, Cara, Amelia, Amy and Sarah. Meg stops by for some fun from time to time but she's a free agent. Still pissed at me for turning away from Hell."

"See, that's right, but it's all wrong at the same time," Monday said. "I can't explain it, but I know—it's like Lewis Carroll. The looking glass, everything's warped and it's the same but it's twisted and—can't you see it?"

Cas reentered the room. With his hunger sated his true Leviathan eyes had retreated, showing the striking blue eyes of his vessel. Dean turned—and stopped.

And Monday knew that he saw, too.

Dean and Cas's gazes stayed locked, but Monday looked once more at the mirror.

The girl, Not-Her, was still standing there.

Or was it this form, this high-heeled corset wearing form, that was Not-Her?

Monday reached out and touched the glass.

* * *

_They're divided up into three teams: Sam and Sarah, Dean and Krissy, Castiel and herself. Castiel was neutral at first, but then Dean's prank for Sarah hit him instead, and now he's vowed revenge against both teams. She picks Castiel because, hey, former angels (or half angels) have to stick together._

_Dean is less than pleased._

_She's filling a bucket with water—why? What for? She can't remember. She isn't in control of her body, but rather an observer._

_She's going to prank Dean. She remembers that now._

_She moves through the—what is this place? She feels like she should know it, but she can't remember. It feels like a dream. No, not a dream, but a memory—a memory from when she was very small. Or perhaps it's a place she hasn't been yet. It has smooth concrete walls and bookshelves everywhere, with massive old-fashioned computers and strange objects in neatly labeled boxes or display cases._

_The Bunker. It's called the bunker._

_The bucket of water in her hands seems to become heavier, drawing her down, down, down, deeper into the darkness._

* * *

Monday found herself in a forest.

Okay, so, forest. Better than being an evil witch that cold-heartedly killed a guy. But this didn't feel right either.

From a few feet away came the sound of retching, and Monday cautiously made her way toward it. Someone was kneeling on the ground… there. Dressed in dark blue—

"Castiel!"

Monday knelt down next to him, putting a hand on his back. Cas was throwing up big time. Monday frowned. The look in his eyes… and there were marks on his arms…

She'd grown up on the streets. She knew what that meant.

"Are you on _drugs_?"

Castiel finally stopped vomiting and wiped his mouth, not looking at her. "I should've known that was a bad batch," he said. He spoke differently as well, a lazy thread running through his speech, a carelessness and weariness that was normally lacking.

Castiel began to stand and she helped him up, which meant he finally turned to look at her. "Thanks for—" He froze.

"What?" Monday asked.

"You—you." Castiel seemed beyond words.

"Yes, me," Monday replied. "Care to explain why you're on drugs?"

"It's not possible," Castiel said. "You—you're dead."

Monday's eyebrows rose. "Um, what?"

"You died on the raid three years ago. I remember…" Castiel's eyes were glazed with pain, like an animal. "I told you to protect Dean, and you did. You jumped in front—and the Croatoan got you. Dean—he couldn't—" Castiel turned away.

"He couldn't handle it?" Monday hazarded.

Castiel laughed. It was hollow and bitter, and it made her recoil. "I was going to say he couldn't save you, but that's also true. He couldn't handle it."

Monday didn't know what to say to that, so she just took Castiel by the elbow. "C'mon. We need to get you lying down and resting."

Castiel had to tell her where to go, but Monday was the one who had to help him walk. He was still a little woozy from the bad trip and the vomiting, and Monday knew even before she felt his pulse in his wrist that he was human. For how long, she didn't know.

To say it worried her would be an understatement.

Castiel led her out of the thickest part of the woods and into a camp. People were milling about, loading things up and generally going about their business, but they all looked hunted and dirty and wore assault weapons. Monday tried to stay relaxed, but it wasn't easy. Just what the hell was going on here?

"Cas?"

Monday nearly heaved a sigh of relief, but Castiel was leaning too heavily on her for that. Dean strode up to them, looking pissed. Like Castiel, Monday could see at once there was something wrong about Dean. He carried himself too stiffly, and there was a hardened, arrogant air about him. He was the General, the Leader You Did Not Question, and he let you know it.

"What the hell did you get yourself into this time?" Dean asked. His tone was slightly scornful, but there was a flicker of caring deep in his eyes.

"Dean, look," Castiel said. He pushed Monday forward, detaching himself from her and managing to stand on his own.

Dean stared at Monday, then casually pulled out a handgun, pointing it at her. Monday reeled back, putting her hands up. "Whoa! What the fuck?"

"Cas, get away from her," Dean said, his voice low and deadly.

"She's not a Croatoan, Dean," Castiel protested.

"You died," Dean said, voice shaky. "I _saw_ you die. I buried your body right here!" The last words were shouted.

"Look," Monday said, "I don't know what happened to me, or this other me, but I'm here now, okay? And I'm not out to hurt anyone."

"Well I'd like to know how the fuck you got here," Dean growled.

That made anger flare up inside of her. "Well I'd like to know why the fuck you'd let Castiel get on drugs!" She replied, throwing her arm back and gesturing at Castiel. "I found him vomiting from them in the woods. God knows what would have happened if I hadn't come along. You were supposed to protect him, and you let—"

The blow stung all the more for being unexpected, catching her right on the cheekbone. Monday was sent reeling back, nearly losing her footing as pain blossomed and stars dancing in front of her. She looked at Dean, who still stood with his hand raised, ready to clock her again.

"You hit me," Monday whispered. She couldn't see it, but she knew there'd be the mark of his hand on her face. "You never hit me."

Dean just glared at her, his face hardened with anger.

"Dean," Castiel said. "Perhaps if—"

"Shut up, Cas," Dean snarled.

To Monday's shock, Castiel obeyed.

"You monster," Monday spat. She took a step toward him. "What kind of person are you that you would speak to him like that—and that he would obey you! What the hell did—"

He hit her again, hard enough to send her crashing to the muddy ground. Her entire head ached but she stood, legs shaking, glaring at him.

"You were a father to me," she spat.

Dean raised his handgun. "What are you," he asked.

"I should ask the same of you."

"Hey!"

Monday was suddenly scooped up by long, lanky arms and wrapped up in them. She instinctively wrapped her arms around their neck, not realizing until her hands met soft, long hair who it was. "Sam?"

Another Dean was standing there, a new one, putting himself between her and the Dean that had struck her. "Sam, get her out of here," he said. He'd dealt with his alternate self before, and he could do it again. He just had to make sure Sam and Monday were safe.

Sam did as he was told and took off, carrying Monday. A few people raised their guns, only to have their weapons shot out of their hands by someone waiting in the forest. Dean waited until they disappeared into the trees before rounding on his other self.

"We'd never hit her," Dean growled.

"That's not her," 2014 Dean replied. "She died three years ago, trying to protect me."

"She's not your Monday," Dean explained. "We're from another universe—an alternate one."

"So Sam—"

"My Sam ended the Apocalypse. All of this?" Dean gestured around him. "Never happened."

He could see the look that 2014 Castiel was giving him, and he tried to keep himself from reaching out and pulling the guy into a hug. This Castiel was so empty and wrung out, broken and hurt in ways Dean could hardly even grasp, and a huge part of him wanted to help heal him, to take those jagged pieces and make them whole again.

But this wasn't his Cas. His Cas was the one with the sniper rifle they'd picked up in the Croatoan-filled town they'd found themselves in, the red beam carefully fixed on anyone who aimed their gun at Dean.

This wasn't his Cas, and he had to let the people in this universe make their own choices.

"We don't belong here, okay?" Dean said, putting his hands up and beginning to back away. His other self regarded him suspiciously, but he didn't attack. "We're going to find a way out of here, and we're going to let you guys do your thing, okay?"

He took another step, and then another, and he was beginning to think he might actually get away with this when Sam burst into the camp again, Monday at his heels.

"Croatoan!" Sam shouted.

Well, shit.

Sam ran into the center of camp, tugging Monday along with him. She had the beginnings of a black eye and felt a little dizzy, saying her head was hurting. He was examining her, trying to find out if this alternate Dean had given her a concussion, when Cas—their Cas—had come out of the trees.

"The Croatoan we ran into at the town," he'd said. "They've followed us."

After that, well, Sam had grabbed Monday's hand and started running. This other Dean seemed like a nasty piece of goods but his people had weapons, and Sam's group was defenseless except for the sniper rifle.

"Defensive positions!" The other Dean shouted. The words had barely left his mouth before the Croatoan were on them, swarming into the camp. Sam let go of Monday, thrusting her towards his brother and catching the gun tossed to him by one of the other Dean's men. As he readied himself for battle, he saw two Castiels out of the corner of his eye. They seemed to be conferring.

Monday was yanked off her feet by Dean—she couldn't see his face, slung over his shoulder like that, but she'd been carried by him enough times when she was injured or sleepy to know what it felt like. "Put me down!" She shouted. "I can help! Put me down!"

"Not a chance," Dean replied. He shouldered a door open and ran into some kind of cabin, thrusting Monday into a closet. "You stay there. And keep quiet."

He slammed and locked the door in her face. Monday leapt forward, pounding on it. "Dean! Dean, you let me out of here! Dean!"

She peered through the crack, saw Dean turn to leave—and saw two Croatoan leap on him, taking him down.

It was like a horrible nightmare. It was her mother, all over again.

"Dean!" Monday shrieked, banging and clawing at the door. "Dean!"

Castiel dispatched another Croatoan when he heard Monday screaming. His other self heard it too, and they both started to make their way toward the sound. The Croatoan were almost all dead—the two Deans, Sam and the others could undoubtedly handle them.

But then Castiel realized there was only one Dean standing there.

His double realized it at the same moment, and they stared at each other. It was odd, to see that terrified look on his own face.

They turned and sprinted towards the cabin Monday's screams came from.

"Cas? The two—where are you going?" Dean was following them—the one Dean, the one still standing.

"Where are all of you guys going?" Sam demanded. If Sam cared enough about where they were going to shout after them, the Croatoan threat must be taken care of for the moment.

Castiel already knew what he would see when he got there, but it didn't make him any less upset.

He and his other self raised their weapons at the same moment, firing them and killing the two Croatoan instantly. They collapsed on top of the body of Dean Winchester.

Castiel caught sight of the thigh holster and felt himself flooded with guilty relief. It wasn't his Dean—it was the other Dean, the one from this universe.

His other self crouched down, turning Dean's body over, fingers tracing the still face. Dean—Castiel's Dean—bounded into the room. "What's going on?" He demanded.

Monday screamed again from inside the closet, her exact words incoherent. Dean ran over and unlocked the door, opening it. Monday was on her knees, fingernails and knuckles bloody from clawing and pounding on her door, tears streaming down her face. She looked up at Dean, and then at the Dean on the ground, and then back up at Dean again.

"It's me, baby girl," Dean told her. "It's me."

Monday started crying again, and Dean crouched down and hugged her.

"He saved her," Castiel's other self said quietly. He looked over at him questioningly. "Monday—our Monday—died saving Dean. He'd already started to change because of losing Sam, but after that he truly began to slip away from me."

Castiel looked over at Dean, who continued to hug Monday and whisper reassuringly in her ear. He realized that Monday hadn't known which Dean had saved her; only that one of them had done so and had died for it. She must have been terrified.

It was all very odd, in fact. Monday's greatest fear—her mother's death and losing another parent—played out. Dean confronting his darker self. Castiel's on fear, losing Dean, and seeing what he had become while human… everything he had feared, once, about becoming human—and Sam—

Castiel turned and met the eyes of the younger Winchester.

"It's another dream," Sam said, voice filled with something close to awe. "Like the last one—it's just a dream. We have to wake up."

* * *

_Oh man, Cas is gonna be so fucking pissed._

_He can't stop laughing at the thought._

_Oh, he's gonna pay for this later, he knows that. Cas couldn't withhold sex if he tried, but the guy's a sly bastard and he'll find a way to nail him for this one._

_The problem is, he can't seem to get to where he needs to go. He keeps running, but the hallways keep shifting. It's like he's caught in some kind of maze. He passes the kitchen for the third time, and comes to a halt._

_Where is everyone? Where is he?_

_Is he even awake?_

_This can't be right. He must have fallen asleep, dreaming about the prank wars even now. He has to do something to wake up._

_His thoughts are slipping out of his grasp like water, falling away even as he reaches for them. He can't think straight, disoriented—he has to get out of the maze…_

* * *

Dean could feel the tension rise in his body the closer he got to home. He'd been gone for five years. His little girl was graduating from high school. His husband had become one of the heads of the hospital. So much had changed, and he hadn't been there for it.

What if he'd changed? What if they didn't like those changes? What if, while he'd been gone, Cas had found someone else, someone better?

No use prolonging the inevitable. They were expecting him home tomorrow morning—the flight had gotten moved forward and he hadn't had a chance to call—so if he didn't show up soon they'd worry.

Taking a deep breath, Dean rang the doorbell.

He caught a quick glimpse of six feet four inches, brown hair and a big smile before he was wrapped up in his baby brother's octopus limbs. All of the tension fled out of him, leaving him shaky.

"Hey, Sammy," he said. It felt amazing to be able to hug Sam again after five years of letters and the occasional Skype session.

"We didn't think you'd be here until morning," Sam said, breaking away and leading Dean into the house. "I was going to stay the night so I'd be here when you arrived."

"Looks like it worked out, huh?" Dean said, grinning.

"Daddy!"

Monday barreled down the stairs, jumping up and letting him spin her around. "There's my baby girl!" He said, smiling. She'd grown up good, his little mischief-maker. They'd adopted her but with her dark blonde hair and blue eyes, she almost looked like a combination of her two fathers.

Speaking of Monday's other father…

Dean felt him, even before he said anything. He turned, letting Monday go, already reaching for him.

Cas slid into his arms like always, his hands coming up to cup Dean's face like they used to five years ago, before Dean left. His lips were warmer and softer than Dean remembered, and he hold on to Cas so tightly he feared he'd hurt the guy.

"You're home," Cas breathed against his mouth, sounding dumbstruck.

"Couldn't keep me away forever, could ya?" Dean replied.

Some of his fear must have shown itself in his voice, because Cas kissed him again. "I missed you," Cas whispered, voice wavering.

"Me too," Dean assured him.

"All right, guys, I think we've been scarred enough for one evening," Sam said, but he was grinning and his eyes were wet. "Let's go eat dinner. I ordered pizza."

Sam led them into the kitchen, Monday at his heels and claiming the first slice of pepperoni. Dean didn't let go of Cas just yet, wanting to steal another kiss.

God, this was perfect.

And that thought was what made him freeze.

It _was_ perfect.

Too perfect.

"Cas?" Dean asked.

"Mm?"

"How did you get here?"

Cas frowned. "We bought this house—"

"No, I mean, this minute. Did you wake up this morning?"

"Of course I—" Cas stopped himself, eyes growing wide. "What was the last thing you dreamed?" He asked.

"Nasty alternate universe. And before that?"

"I was a Leviathan, you were a demon, Sam was a vampire and Monday was an evil witch and a half demon."

"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed. "We're dreaming again."

Cas nodded. "Somehow we are having the same dreams, and each time we try to wake up—"

"We're entering another one." Dean didn't like this. "I think each time we wake up we're getting closer to the surface—like in that one film."

"So if we do it enough times, we'll wake up for real?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "So… wake up."

* * *

_He can't move._

_If this is another one of Dean and Krissy or Sam and Sarah's pranks, this one isn't funny._

_He tries to call out for Dean, but he can't seem to make any noise. It's not even that he's straining to move and can't—it's that his body's so numb he can't feel anything._

_This was only supposed to be a prank war. It was only supposed to be fun._

_But now he can't move and he doesn't know where Dean or anyone else is and he can't call out and he's sinking deeper…_

_Why can't he call out? Dean… Dean!_

_He's sinking, he's sinking deeper, his mind can't move and neither can his body…_

_Dean…_

_Dean…_

* * *

Castiel could hear Monday singing_ Friend Like Me_ from Disney's _Aladdin_ as she washed the dishes in the kitchen. They didn't have a lot, starting from scratch like this, and their apartment might not be much but it was home.

What was more, it was away from the Host.

It had been a risk, trusting in Balthazar—escaping at all had been a risk—but it was worth it to see how happy Monday was. No arranged marriages, no lashes, no constant rules and schedules. They were free.

And then came the knock at the door.

Monday got to it first, before Castiel could stop her. He was just in time to see the badges go up and the word 'FBI'. He was ready with lies and a cover story, but then he saw the faces of the men in front of him.

One was tall, with a strong jaw and thick hair. He looked vaguely familiar in the soft look his eyes held. The other, though—Castiel could never forget that face.

After all, it's not every day your childhood best friend drops by.

"Mr. Novak?" Dean—for it was Dean, it had to be—spoke. "I'm Agent Winchester. This is my brother, also Agent Winchester. We'd like to talk to you and your sister."

"Come in," Castiel said. Not that he had much of a choice. Seeing that Monday looked distressed, he put an arm around her. She leaned into him, seeking comfort.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions," Sam (it had to be Sam, Dean had no other siblings) said. "Alone."

Monday looked positively terrified.

"It's okay," Dean said, his voice low and soothing. "How about you talk with my partner here in the backyard, while I talk with your brother in the kitchen? Just for a few minutes."

Monday looked up at Castiel for guidance, and he nodded. He didn't want to drag this out any longer than necessary, and he'd prepped Monday on what to say. "Go on," he said, nudging her encouragingly.

Grudgingly, Monday led Sam out to the small backyard while Castiel led Dean into the kitchen.

"Castiel Novak," Dean said, flipping through a small notebook. "We've been trying to track you guys down for a couple of months now. Quite impressive how you gave us and Heaven's Host the slip."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel replied. "Would you like anything to drink?"

Dean shook his head. "No thanks. So you and your sister are not the two escapees of the notorious cult that, after the strange disappearance of its leader, was divided into two camps led by a man named," he checked his notebook "Lucifer and a man named Michael, both professing to be the leader's—called The Father—son and chosen heir?"

"None of that rings a bell, I'm afraid. My sister and I have done a lot of travelling over the years as our family moved us about. Our parents died a couple of years ago in a car accident, and since then we've been trying to find a place to settle down." It was hard to lie to Dean, even after all of these years, but he had to do it. He had to protect Monday.

"Now, do you have any further questions for me based upon actual fact, Dean Winchester, or are you going to continue to speculate upon a story that has no proof?" Castiel went on.

Dean's eyes lit up and Castiel knew, somehow, that he'd made a mistake. "I never gave you my first name, Cas," he said, smiling in that lazy way Castiel loved. "But I'm flattered you remember me after all this time, Jimmy."

Castiel could have hit himself for being so stupid. "So you knew who I was."

"The second they slapped your file on my desk," Dean replied. "It was real shock, you know—seeing your best friend for the first time in twenty years and he's escaped a cult. Is that why you never wrote, why you up and moved without a word?"

Castiel sighed. "You'd better sit down, Dean."

In quick, broad strokes, he told Dean the story. How his parents had become seduced by Heaven's Host and had moved him and his sister Anna into the compound. How both of his parents had died under mysterious circumstances, his mother shortly after giving birth to Monday. They'd all been given new names; Anna was Anael, James had been changed to Castiel, and Monday had been called Magdalena.

"Anna married a man called Uriel, and she was quite happy," Castiel explained. "Monday had never known anything else, and never questioned why I was so protective or why only her siblings called her Monday while everyone else called her a different name. But then…"

He explained Gabriel, a rebellious member, and how he and Anna had become best of friends. When Gabriel had escaped—the first successful attempt—Anna had insisted that she could do it, too.

She had failed, and she had paid the ultimate price.

"After that, they kept an eye on us," Castiel explained. "Naomi, one of the higher ups, always suspected that I never bought into their ideals but she never had any proof."

To make sure that the remaining members of the Milton family remained within the cult, plans were made to marry Castiel to a woman named Rachel and Monday to a boy named Samandriel. Arranged marriages were commonplace—Anna's had been—but Castiel knew it was the noose tightening.

So he'd taken a risk.

"Balthazar was like a brother to me," Castiel explained. "When he said he could get us out… I knew it was risky, but I couldn't let Monday marry a boy she barely knew. And I confess I wanted out anyway. I had for years."

"I should say Bal could get you out," Dean snorted. "He's one of our guys, planted when we assassinated the Father. We thought that would disband you guys and it created the schism all right, but you bastards remained strong."

Castiel nodded. What Dean said made sense and explained some missing puzzle pieces. "I couldn't use our real last name when we got out, or even my real first name. And I had gotten used to being called Castiel, I will admit. They were waiting for a James Milton to appear, or a Magdalena. So I chose the name Novak, kept my new first name and just had Monday go by the name Anna and I had always called her. We were starting to make a life for ourselves—we didn't want any trouble—and then… you."

Castiel looked up, startled by the intensity of Dean's gaze. "You know you can't stay here, Cas," Dean said. "The cult's on their way to get you. Balthazar told us this morning. We need to get you into witness protection, get all the information you can give us to take them down for good."

Castiel remembered summer nights catching fireflies and lying under the stars. He remembered when he was twelve how Dean had asked, shyly, if he could hold his hand. He remembered doing homework together and wondering what Dean's lips tasted like.

"Will I get to see you again, if we go?" Castiel asked.

Dean smiled as if his body had done it without his brain's permission, and blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sam n' me are the ones working this angle of the case," he said. "So yeah. We'd be guarding you. You'd, uh, see me every day. Probably get sick of me."

"I doubt that would be possible," Castiel replied.

Dean's blush deepened, and Castiel could feel his own face heating up, when he heard Monday scream and Sam give a shout of surprise.

They both stood up and looked out the sliding glass window.

Sam was firing his gun at an assailant, while another attacker grabbed at Monday.

"The Host," Castiel breathed. "They found us."

Dean drew his weapon. "Stay here!"

And then something strange happened.

The attacker struggling with Monday stabbed her in the back with a knife. Just to the right of her spine, in fact. Monday gave an almighty shriek, but then—she vanished.

Utterly and completely vanished.

* * *

Monday woke up with a scream.

"Her heart rate is off the charts!"

"Get her family."

"Doctor!"

"Breathe, Miss Winchester, just breathe."

Monday gazed around wildly at the nurses and doctors attending her. "Castiel," she said. "Dean. Sam. My—my family, where—where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, dear," a nurse said.

"What? But why?"

"You've been in a coma."

"What?" Monday tried to sit up but the nurses wouldn't let her. "I don't understand. How long have I been asleep?"

"Two months," the nurse told her.

Monday gaped at her.

* * *

"…and here's your aunt now."

Sarah appeared in the doorway, holding flowers. "Hey," she said softly, smiling. "Thought these would brighten the room."

The doctor smiled. "I'll leave you two to it then."

Sarah came over to Monday side, setting the flowers on the stand by the windowsill. "I suppose he told you what happened."

"The official story, anyway," Monday said. "We were travelling cross-country when your husband, his brother and his husband, plus their daughter, me, all fell asleep while you were running to the corner store. You couldn't wake us up so you called an ambulance. They brought us here and we've been asleep ever since."

Sarah nodded. "I didn't think they'd let me see you unless I was family," she said. "So I had to pretend I was married to Sam. Charlie forged some documents. I made Dean and Cas married as well. You're already legally Dean's daughter, so that was all good."

"What really happened, then?"

Sarah sighed and sat at the foot of Monday's bed. "How much do you remember?"

Monday thought back. It was hard to remember what was real and what had been a dream, because the dreams were what felt solid and cohesive while reality felt far away and unbelievable. "We were having a prank war," she said slowly.

Sarah nodded. "We were in three teams—Sam and I, you and Castiel, and Dean and Krissy. We couldn't decide who had won when Charlie showed up with new developments about the Old Gods. She pranked us all massively and we declared her the winner."

"Then what?"

"Well we were all exhausted from the prank and went to bed. We were going to discuss everything in the morning. Charlie and I stayed up later, catching up, and Krissy wandered in at some point unable to sleep. We chatted until morning, and slowly started to realize Sam hadn't gotten up for his early run. You and Castiel weren't getting up to spar, either. We all ran in and tried to wake everybody, but none of you four would wake up." Sarah bit her lip. "It was scary, to tell you the truth.

"We didn't know what to do, so we carried you all into the Impala, drove to the nearest motel, checked into two rooms, arranged you four like so, and called an ambulance. Charlie fixed up the legal stuff."

"And Krissy?" Monday asked.

There was a shocked, wounded noise from the doorway.

Monday turned and saw Krissy, face pale and eyes wide, standing there as if unsure how to make her feet work. Then in a leap she was across the room, kissing Monday for all she was worth and clutching at her, winding her arms around her and half-straddling her on the bed.

"Two months, Evans," Krissy whispered, her voice broken and high-pitched. "Two months."

"Next time I'll try and make it one, okay Chambers?" Monday replied. She was trying to joke, but her voice and hands shook as she held her girlfriend. She looked over Krissy's shoulder at Sarah. "Do we know what caused this?"

Sarah nodded. "Not what, but who."

That was all Monday needed to hear. "Morpheus."

* * *

_There's something wrong here._

_It started out small enough—Nair in shampoo, salt instead of sugar, a few minor hexes on Monday's part—but now it's all gone sideways._

_He feels like it wasn't supposed to go like this, but he can't think of why._

_Was this one of Monday's spells gone wrong? An artifact Dean found and decided to incorporate into a prank?_

_He tries to move his mouth, to say that this has gone too far, that the prank went wrong… but he can't speak._

_Sarah. Is Sarah okay? Where is she? Where's Krissy, for that matter?_

_He feels like something is missing, some piece of the puzzle. It's just out of his grasp—if he could only stay awake a minute longer—_

_The thought is gone, and a second later he is sinking into something black as ink and thick as fear._

* * *

The whispers spread quickly through the town. "He's _here_."

Castiel Novak, the celebrated exorcist. If anyone could save their village leader's afflicted brother (and such a nice young man, going to Boston to study at law school) then it would be Goodman Novak.

It was fortunate, the village said, that they were on such good terms with the exorcist. He visited their town regularly, staying weeks if there wasn't an exorcism for him to perform elsewhere.

If only they knew why. Sam certainly hadn't known why.

With the demon inside of him, now he did.

_Should we tell them?_ The demon inside of him whispered. It had been controlling him for weeks now. _Should we tell the innocent town folk all about what your brother Dean and the former priest get up to between scratchy sheets?_

Sam tried to twist his head away, to escape the slithery voice inside his head, but there was no escape. The demon was inside of him, underneath his very skin, and he couldn't get it out.

Vaguely, as if from far away, he heard Dean speaking. Dean, his brother, who had taken over leading the village when their father John passed.

"…tough case, Cas, you think you can get this bastard out?"

"I've yet to meet a demon I couldn't exorcise," Cas's low whiskey tones pierced through Sam's sluggish consciousness. "But I'll admit this will be difficult."

"He's still alive in there, Cas," Dean said, his voice becoming a plea. "I know it. You can't kill him."

"I hope that I won't have to, Dean," Cas replied.

"I won't let you," Dean said. "I love you Cas but so help me if you kill my brother—"

"And I love you," Cas said, tones even. "Which is why I will do everything in my power to expunge the demon from him."

The next thing Sam was aware of was twisting, molten pain in his gut, like live snakes were writhing inside of his stomach.

_Why?_ He thought to the demon. _Why are you doing this?_

_Revenge,_ the demon informed him. _Or do you not remember me, Samuel Winchester? Hanged for being a witch?_

Sam could hear Castiel's chanting, background noise in the wake of this new knowledge. _Ruby?_ He thought.

_No, her sister-in-arms,_ the demon hissed. _Meg._

Meg was possessing him?

Meg.

The memories came flooding back, Sam felt searing pain in his chest, and then—

* * *

"He's awake!" Monday shouted, springing over to Sam's bedside. Sam stared at her, bewildered, as Krissy and Sarah came to join him.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"You've been in a coma," Sarah said. She hastily explained everything, leaving Sam reeling.

"But—but how did I wake up? How did Monday wake up?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Monday asked.

"I was being possessed by Meg," Sam said. "And I realized that it had happened before—and the pain of it—"

"Woke you up, like a kick," Monday finished. "That's what happened to me, too. I was stabbed right where Naomi got me when she cut out my wings, and it triggered my memory. The pain and the recollection are so powerful and startling that it literally jumpstarts you awake, like a defibrillator."

"I remember one of us, in one of the dreams saying something about waking up," Sam said. "We just had to wake up past each level of sleep until we woke up for real."

"See, that's the trap!" Monday said. She sounded way too excited about this, in Sam's opinion. "You automatically think you've got to wake up, but each time you do you're actually sinking into a deeper level of sleep!"

"What's the deepest level?" Sam asked.

"Limbo," Krissy said.

"Or Oneiroi," Monday said. "As the Greeks called it. Morpheus' kingdom and the land of dreams."

"Sounds kind of like a fairy tale," Sarah commented.

Sam recalled a few fairy tales he and Dean had run into, and looked at Monday's grim face. "I don't think this is the kind of fairytale that ends with 'happily ever after'," he said.

Monday shook her head.

* * *

"Okay," Charlie said, typing frantically on her laptop. "I came to you with information on how to trap the Old Gods, but Morpheus must have followed me and laid his trap. How he got past the bunker's defenses I don't know, but we were lucky that Sarah, Krissy and I didn't fall asleep that night. I can't get Dean and Cas out of there but what I can do is… here we go…"

Charlie spun the computer so that they could all see the screen. "I found a way to track Morpheus," she explained. "Just a touch here…"

Sam pointed. "That's inside this building."

Monday turned to Sarah. "What was the name of the head doctor attending me and the boys?"

Sarah frowned. "Doctor Somnus, why?"

Monday darted for the door, Sam right behind her. "The egotist couldn't keep away from the scene of the crime," Monday said. "This is just like in a detective novel!"

"Oh, joy," Krissy muttered, dashing after them.

* * *

Dean gazed around him at the landscape—if you could call it a landscape. A thick mist permeated the air, making it hard to see, and the only three landmarks were like something out of a twisted fantasy film. There were two gates, one horned and one ivory, through which strange things that looked kind of like spots of oil floated. And opposite the gates was a great tree. Sometimes the tree looked blackened, and other times it gleamed a ghostly white. How it changed color, Dean couldn't tell.

Where was he?

For that matter, _who_ was he?

"Hello!" He called.

No one answered.

Slowly, Dean walked through the area. He couldn't tell what he was standing on—it felt lighter than earth and his feet sank into it a little, but it held his weight well enough.

Was he alone here?

"Is anybody—"

He took another step and began sinking into the misty whatever it was that made up the ground. "Son of a bitch!"

He tried crawling out, but he couldn't quite get a good handhold. He clawed at the ground, but it seemed to dissolve under his fingers. And still he was sinking, slowly down into who knew what.

"Help!" He shouted. He had no idea if anyone heard him or if anyone was even there, but had to try. The misty stuff was starting to fill in his ears, nose and mouth, clogging up his senses and disorienting him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't get free no matter how he thrashed and clawed, and now only the tips of his fingers could feel air…

Something gripped him tightly, right at his left elbow and shoulder. It hurt like a motherfucker, but at least someone was there. Someone was trying to get him out. He held on to his rescuer, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.

Straining, yanking, pulling…

Dean was slowly raised out of the strange substance, and as his face broke free and he could breathe, he opened his eyes.

And looked right up into the bluest pair of eyes he'd ever seen, framed by dark silky hair.

"Cas," he breathed.

And everything went white.

* * *

Dean blinked slowly awake, gazing around him. His eyes met Cas's, lying on the bed next to him, and he smiled. "Think we should spin a top?" He asked.

Cas's eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand that reference."

Dean laughed. Everything was back to normal.

"You guys okay?"

Dean and Cas both turned—and gaped, astonished.

Monday and Sam were both coated in blood from head to foot. Krissy looked a little sick and had some blood sprayed on her, while Sarah had some black stuff running down her shirt that Dean did not want to think about. Charlie alone, out of all of them, looked perfectly normal, without a hair out of place.

"What the hell happened to you guys?"

Monday grinned grimly. "Those memories of Hell came in handy," she informed him.

Dean looked at Sam questioningly.

"We got Morpheus," Sam explained. "And we figured out how to stop the Old Gods."

"And the blood?"

Monday looked a little sheepish. "I forgot that, unlike Hell, the bodies don't automatically heal up after you cut into them."

Both Sam and Krissy glared at Monday, and she cleared her throat.

"I might also have forgotten where certain arteries were located."

Dean's head sank back onto the pillow and groaned.

And he found _this_ more normal then the one where he was coming home from the army?

Son of a bitch.


	23. American Gods

**It's not getting even. It's just getting what you deserve.**

* * *

Perhaps it was Crowley's corporate mentality, but under his leadership the Old Gods seemed to always inhabit corporate buildings.

Dean didn't know a whole lot about pagan gods, but from what Monday had told him he had a feeling the more hard-partying gods would have preferred holing up in a casino or something.

"Knock knock!" Dean called, banging on the front door.

Sam walked up to the door and opened it, raising his eyebrows at his brother. "It's unlocked," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes but followed his brother in, making a beeline for the receptionist's desk.

"Hello…" he read the nameplate. "Iris. Mind letting Crowley know we're here?"

"He's in the middle of a meeting," Iris replied. "Do you have an appointment?"

Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged. "Tell him the Winchesters are here," Dean said.

Isis's eyes widened slightly, but it was the only sign that she was in any way perturbed. "One moment."

"You think Sarah's started?" Dean whispered as Isis talked with her boss on the phone.

"She should have," Sam replied.

"He'll see you," Isis said, giving them the biggest, fakest smile Dean had ever seen.

They rode up to the top floor in the elevator, not saying anything. Dean didn't know if they were being watched, but it was best to assume so for now. They had to speak as if every word they said was being heard and recorded. Dean stood at parade rest, like his father had taught him. Sam stood holding a slightly bulky briefcase.

The elevator stopped, doors opening with a soft _ding_, and the brothers stepped out into a large meeting room. There was a long table in the center of the room, each with an occupied chair. A nameplate was in front of each person, identifying which god or goddess they were. Unbeknownst to the Winchesters, this was because of a prank Coyote and Anansi had pulled a couple of months ago impersonating several other gods over a period of a few days.

"Nice of you boys to drop in," Crowley said. "Saves me the pleasure of having you tracked down and killed."

"You sure about that?" Sam said. "We had a feeling you'd be pretty surprised we were stopping by."

"Yeah, I mean," Dean grinned. "Wasn't your right hand man supposed to tell you if we ever woke up from that Sleeping Beauty trick he pulled on us?"

The brothers advanced slowly as they spoke.

"I'll bet you're wondering right now what happened to Morpheus," Sam said. He held up the briefcase.

"And how we figured out where you are," Dean added.

Sam set the briefcase down on the table and opened it. Dean hadn't liked this idea, but they needed to go for the shock value. Distract, distract, and distract some more until the rest of the team could get everything into place.

The briefcase, once opened, popped its lid and its barely contained contents spilled out, rolling down the table.

It was Morpheus's decapitated and bloody head.

Several gods made noise of protest, and at least one of them fainted. Dean let the corners of his mouth slowly stretch upwards into a grin.

"And just what were you hoping to accomplish with this?" Crowley asked, the only one of those assembled to remain calm. He smiled. Dean didn't like it. "You come here like it's High Noon in Deadwood, show us your little parlor trick, and expect us to fall at your feet?

"Or perhaps you were trying to distract us so these two could finish playing their part."

Crowley made a gesture with his fingers and two large gods (probably Titans, from what little Dean knew) came forward, dragging Sarah and Castiel with them. Sarah openly struggled, glaring at her captors, but Cas stood still and rigid. Dean knew that pose—it was the one Cas took up when he got all sullen, making you think you'd won, playing the part of the prisoner before he struck.

Crowley's smile widened and he sat down in his rather cushy looking chair at the head of the table. "Boys, boys, boys… did you really think I wouldn't know that you were the smoke and mirrors?"

"No, we did," Sam admitted.

Dean felt his pocket vibrate and gently nudged Sam with his shoulder.

"We knew you'd suspect us, and that you'd hunt for the real attack," Sam went on, pressing his foot against Dean's to let him know he understood. "We were a distraction. But so were those two."

"What?" Crowley said, standing up.

And then the world exploded.

* * *

They had decided upon their plan of action a couple of days ago. Charlie had been instrumental in planning it out, and Dean, Sam, Sarah and Castiel all had dangerous parts to play since they'd be on ground zero and right in the viper's nest distracting Crowley and the others, but Monday and Krissy were the real tip of the arrow for this operation. Well, Monday exclusively, with Krissy as her assistant and bodyguard. Dean hadn't wanted her to do it, but Monday had to be chosen since she was the only one with a firm enough grip on the complicated magic that was entailed.

When Dean, Cas and Benny got out of Purgatory (and when Dean and Cas were sucked in), nobody bothered to seal it back up properly. Crowley and Castiel certainly hadn't bothered back when they first opened it to get at the souls within. Now, with Death putting everyone in their proper place of Heaven or Hell and all the monsters doing penance in Purgatory, nobody had even thought that closing the door was necessary.

But it was a leak, and it had to be plugged.

And where else could be more proper to imprison all of the Old Gods trying to do the earth harm? They were, after all, neither demons nor angels, but something in between.

But to send them to Purgatory and close the door was something on a massive scale that had never been attempted before, and Monday needed a lot of time to perform all of the rituals, put the symbols up, and weave all the elements of those rituals and symbols together to create the massive spell that would open the door, suck the Old Gods in, and then shut it at the right moment.

It was pretty fucking complicated, in other words.

So Dean and Sam would go in as the Alpha Team. They'd have Morpheus's head, play the part of the cocky conquering heroes, and generally be the ones most in danger of getting their heads ripped off.

Sarah and Castiel were the Beta Team. If Crowley suspected something—and he would, he always suspected someone of double-crossing because he himself was a double-crosser—then he'd have someone snoop around and that someone would find Sarah and Castiel.

Meanwhile, Krissy and Monday would be down in the building's basement, readying the spell.

When they were ready to activate it, Monday would send Dean a text. It didn't matter what the text said, because he wouldn't read it. All he needed was the feel the phone vibrate, and he'd know that it was go time.

When Dean felt the phone vibrate, he started counting in his head. Monday had said it would take approximately ten seconds after activitating for the spell to really kick in. She'd created a safety circle that she and Krissy would be standing in, a spot where the spell wouldn't work, and that's where they'd be waiting.

Dean counted in his head.

_One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three…_

The moment he reached ten, the spell activated.

* * *

The world went white as the spell exploded, energy forming in the center of the floor—of the building, rather—a gigantic column that ran from Purgatory up through the center of the building to the top floor, a swirling whirlpool of color and flashing light. Most of the Old Gods were caught off guard and sucked in at once, screaming and clawing at the furniture and each other in an attempt to escape. Sarah and Castiel, ready for the moment, flung their captors off of them and scampered to the far end of the room, grabbing a hold of the walls. Sam and Dean did the same, backing as far away from the magnetic pull as possible. They all knew that they'd get sucked in one way or another. Monday had actually theorized that the entire building would collapse in on itself. The only way to survive was to get to where Monday and Krissy were, inside of the safety circle where the pull was nullified. Dean hadn't fully understood all of the magic involved, but suffice to say the elements that went into the circle clashed with those of the Purgatory door, and as a result they canceled each other out, making a small area that was untouched by the pull.

Sam got to Sarah and Castiel first, grabbing a hold and tugging them toward the elevator. Dean came in behind them, pressing the B button. "How much time we got?" He asked.

"Three minutes before the building collapses," Cas replied.

Dean noticed that Sarah and Sam were holding hands, but decided he'd tease them about it after this was all over.

They got to the basement and Dean peered out, trying to find the girls through the screams and flashes of light.

"Over here!"

Monday was standing, waving her arms while Krissy jumped up and down. They were standing in a circle of chalk, and were about twenty feet away.

"Okay, let's go," Dean said, shoving Cas ahead of him.

They ran toward the circle and were only a few feet away when Dean felt a hand at his shoulder, wrenching him back and spinning him around.

"Not so fast," Crowley snarled, punching Dean in the face.

"Oh, that's how you want to do it?" Dean drew Ruby's knife. "About time you got your hands dirty."

"This has been a long time coming, Dean," Crowley smiled. "We used to be allies—friends. If only you'd stayed out of my way."

"When are you going to learn?" Dean grinned. "I have a bit of a problem with authority."

Crowley drew his own blade, and they began to fight.

* * *

Castiel made it to the circle first, then turned and grabbed Sarah to pull her in. Sam was two steps from the circle, and Sarah reached out her hand.

"Come on!"

Sam's fingers just brushed the tips of hers when he was yanked back.

"You!"

Sam was sent reeling as he was clocked across the face.

"You behaved without honor!"

Sam caught the wrist before the guy could deal another blow, glaring at his opponent. "You were planning on taking over the world, against humans who couldn't defend themselves. You call that honorable?"

Sarah tried to move forward, but Monday held her back. "That's Thor!" She said. "He'll knock you into oblivion!"

"You gotta be kidding me," Krissy muttered.

"He's a god," Sarah protested. "Sam can't fight him."

Castiel frowned slightly, tilting his head. "Monday, take my blade," he said. "Help Dean. Sarah? Get ready to catch Sam."

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Sam!" Castiel shouted. "Use the Force!"

Everyone turned.

"Did you just make a _Star Wars_ reference?" Sam asked.

"I _knew_ you were paying attention!" Dean crowed.

"You're ridiculous," Krissy said, rolling her eyes. "All of you."

"I know," Monday said in a terrible Harrison Ford impression, kissing Krissy on the cheek.

Sam dodged another one of Thor's blows, inching closer toward the circle—and the vortex. Monday, meanwhile, ran out of the circle and around Sam, picking up enough speed to slide on her knees like she was gunning for home plate, making it all the way across the room—and passing underneath Crowley's intense gaze as he fought with Dean.

"Two minutes!" Krissy called, keeping time.

Sam wasn't quick enough and got caught in the side. He could feel his ribs crack and let out a grunt of pain. But he was close enough to the vortex now. He took one large step back, let Thor follow him…

The second the god grabbed him Sam used his weight to turn, much like he had once used Adam's weight against him. It was a vortex, not the edge of a hole, but the result was the same: his opponent fell in.

Sarah and Castiel moved as one, each grabbing a bit of Sam and hauling him toward them, fighting the pull of the vortex to get him into the circle.

"One minute!" Krissy called.

Dean dodged a blow from Crowley and swiped, just missing. "Well aware of the time crunch, thanks!" He bellowed.

Crowley made to strike again—and froze. Both he and Dean looked down.

Castiel's angel blade protruded from Crowley's chest.

"That's for my mother," Monday informed him cheerily, her eyes flashing darkly.

Dean took a step forward and stabbed Crowley with Ruby's knife, the god making a strangled noise.

"I told you once that I'd kill you," Dean told him. "And I make good on my promises."

What he didn't say was that a good part of his resentment came from Crowley leading Cas astray.

"Thirty seconds!" Krissy called, sounding desperate.

Dean grabbed Monday and ran for it.

Castiel leaned forward, grabbing Dean and yanking them in just as the vortex started to shrink—and then quickly expand. Dean caught a quick glimpse of Sam lying in Sarah's lap, the latter gripping him for all she was worth. Dean swung Monday around, grabbing her to him and feeling Cas pull them together—

Krissy screamed "One!" and slammed her hand into the center of a set of symbols.

The vortex expanded violently, the building caught up in its pull and collapsing, falling in on itself as every sense was blocked out by the white light and noise. Dean couldn't hear or see anything, but he could feel Cas and Monday against him and the stillness of the air. They were in the eye of the storm, the one center of calm in the midst of violent chaos.

When it finally died down, Dean's ears were ringing. He blinked, slowly, and looked around.

Cas had his face buried into Dean's neck, his arms looped around him. Dean had one arm around Cas and one around Monday, her arms wrapped around his waist. Sam was well on his way to passing out from his injury, but he was hanging onto Sarah, who was half bent over him as if to shield him from danger. Krissy stood alone, her palm still in the center of the symbols Monday had drawn.

"Krissy?" Monday asked, her voice muffled from being smashed into Dean's side.

"It's closed," Krissy said.

Monday heaved a sigh of relief into Dean's shirt and stepped back. "You have got to change your cologne," she told him, wrinkling her nose.

"Whoa," Sarah breathed, gazing around.

Where there had once been a building, there was now an empty dirt lot, with them standing in the middle of it.

"We did it," Sam wheezed, wincing as he tried to sit up. "Ow."

"You just went ten rounds with a god," Dean grinned. "I think you can take it easy for a little bit."

"So we won?" Monday asked.

"Yes," Cas said. "We won."

"Now what?" Monday asked.

Cas looked at Dean, who grinned and, hey, what the hell. He pecked his boyfriend on the lips. "Now," he said, ruffling Monday's hair, "We go home."


	24. The Undying Lands

**Ride into the sunset like true cowboys.**

* * *

Charlie stretched out languidly on the bed, feeling the silk slide deliciously against her skin. All of these years later and she still couldn't believe the luxury of the sheets on their bed. It was odd, what sunk in and what continued to feel new. Tiny pixies flitted about the room, pulling back the curtains to let the sunlight in and mixing morning face creams and bringing in the breakfast tray.

"Good morning, beloved," Gilda said. She always seemed to find Charlie's morning yawns and bed-head a source of great amusement.

"Morning," Charlie replied, blinking sleepily up at her wife. She loved saying the word or even thinking it. When she'd been a little girl and gotten a crush on Arwen from _Lord of the Rings_, she couldn't have imagined that it would be possible for her to actually have a life with another woman.

Not that Gilda was technically a woman—but she was definitely female. Charlie had conducted several tests on that matter and found the results to be very satisfactory.

The wedding had been lavish, to say the least. Dean had insisted on giving her away, which meant he couldn't be her best man, so Sam had taken up that task. Krissy, Sarah and Monday had been bridesmaids because, although they didn't know Gilda very well, it was apparently tradition that close family members be involved in the wedding party—including adopted nieces and sort-of sisters-in-law. The most surreal part of it all had to be the dress. She'd literally stood there while spiders had spun the dress onto her body, molding it perfectly to her curves. It had taken a lot of breathing (and Dean distracting her) to keep from having a panic attack.

But it had all been worth it—the stress, the planning, the last-minute jitters—to see Gilda walk down the aisle and exchange their vows.

And now, years later, she didn't regret a thing.

"You ready to head out?" Charlie asked, scrambling out of bed to put on the outfit their handmaiden pixies had so graciously left out for them.

"All the arrangements have been made," Gilda replied.

As Queen of the Fairy Realm, Gilda had many responsibilities. Charlie visited the U.S. a few times a year, to make sure fairies weren't making mischief and to see her family and have fun, but Gilda usually couldn't go with her. Gilda's parents, Titania and Oberon, could technically have served as regents but were loath to come out of retirement. Fortunately this time Gilda had persuaded her mother's sister, Mab, to hold down the fort while they went to the U.S. this time.

It had been six months since Charlie had last seen her family or technology, and she was itching to go. Even putting on her jeans and t-shirt filled her with excitement. She loved the elaborate gowns she wore, befitting her station as Gilda's wife and consort, but sometimes a girl just needed to wear good old denim.

"Shall we?" Charlie asked, holding out an arm.

Gilda looked rather fetching in leggings, a dress and boots, her hair tied back into a ponytail. "Yes," she said, taking Charlie's arm and smiling.

Charlie pecked her on the lips and they set out.

* * *

"Yes, I know it's gross, but you have to cut it off," Garth was saying into the phone.

Becky rolled over in bed, groaning. "Tell the newbie he's not cut out to be a hunter if he can't handle something as simple as this," she groaned.

Garth finished his conversation and hung up, smiling. "You can't expect them to be as hardened as some of us. Hunts are mostly ghosts nowadays and they're lucky if they get a hunt a month. It's more of a part time job then a way of life now."

"Uh-huh," Becky said, not feeling at all sympathetic. She'd just gotten the kids to bed—an hour later than she'd planned, the rascals—and she did not appreciate her hard-earned sleep being interrupted by a squeamish hunter. "I still say they should suck it up."

Garth settled back into bed with her. "You have to admit it's been nice," he said. "Back when I first started I would never've had time for my practice or you for your writing."

"Mm, true," Becky admitted. The latest _Superntural_ book, still published under the Carver Edlund pseudonym had been wildly popular, but she had a feeling the next one would be the last. The information had been gathered from the Winchesters and other old-fashioned methods like research rather than divine inspiration, and she'd gotten all the way to the climactic fight with the Old Gods. There wasn't much to write about after that, was there? Nothing besides _Happily Ever After_, anyway.

Becky had never told it to anyone, not even Garth, but sometimes, when she was writing… she could feel someone at her elbow. It was as if she just turned her head she'd see someone there, smiling and nodding at her writing. Whenever she wasn't sure quite how to describe Dean's state of mind or what word to use for Sam's behavior, it was like someone had leaned forward and whispered just what she needed into her ear.

She wasn't a prophet. She knew that much. But she couldn't help but wonder—Chuck had dumped her so suddenly and strangely, all those years ago, saying,

"I do want to, Beckster, but I can't. One day you'd just wake up and find me gone."

She hadn't known what that meant at the time, and even after Chuck mysteriously vanished she hadn't understood, but, he did leave her all of his writing and rights to the books in his effects.

What if…?

No, no that was absurd. That belonged back in the time of the Apocalypse and monsters, when the world was turning upside down and she was never quite sure what was real and what was fantasy. Nowadays hunters dealt with ghosts (although Charlie was increasingly making them turn their knowledge and willpower to things like stopping cults and other such "human" issues), Garth was a dentist most of the time, she was a successful writer and had three kids. She was even thinking of starting her own series of books—something entirely fictional.

Becky smiled, curled up next to her husband, and went to bed.

* * *

Jody smiled as she read the various postcards and letters. Double A was taking her gap year in Europe and had just sent her a postcard from Rome. The other pieces of correspondence were from various places around the U.S. and were sent from the monsters and hunter's orphans that Jody had raised with Sonny over the years, along with normal children. Over time and help from Kate, Sonny's had expanded to take in other kids with disabilities or suffering from abuse or neglect and had earned quite a name for itself as both a correctional facility (or "halfway house") and a foster home.

"What're you looking at?" Sonny asked, entering the kitchen with Timmy at his side. Like Double A, Timmy had been officially adopted by Jody and Sonny and was now a young teenager, eager to help out and a bit of a guardian angel to the younger kids. He was growing into a looker, too, and the young girls followed him like love-struck ducklings. He was firmly vegetarian and the cravings hadn't come over him yet, but they were always on alert just in case. Charlie had contacted them and was confident that a few documents the Men of Letters had on hand would work as a cure similar to allergy medicine, but they'd yet to try it out. Timmy wanted to stick it out first, see if the craving ever developed. Perhaps, since he had never eaten meat and never would, the craving would remain forever dormant.

"Just letters from the kids," Jody told him, holding up the pile. "Everything good?"

"Yup." Sonny grinned, ruffling Timmy's hair. "Barely had to do anything with this guy around. I think we should retire and put him in charge."

Jody smiled at the boy she'd come to think of as her son. He was blushing modestly. "Any new arrivals?" She asked.

"Not this round," Sonny said. "But Kate told me she's got two kids that she might send our way."

"Hunters or monsters?"

"Neither," Sonny replied.

Jody nodded. They'd gotten a huge influx of both when they'd first started, and had taken in over fifty kids. But slowly the flow had turned into a trickle, and Jody had a feeling that in a couple more years they wouldn't have any. Hunting had become more of a side gig, and as a result less kids were losing their families—and weren't being indoctrinated into the life so early. Ninety five percent or more of the monsters in the world had been killed off thanks to the Winchesters, and so they'd always known that they were taking in the last members of a dying species. With none of their kids having children biologically, they were truly the last of their kind.

Sometimes Jody wished they'd adopted all of them. Only Double A and Timmy could legally be called her own, but few of their kids had been adopted by others, and those were usually hunters looking for children to raise, meaning Jody had seen most of the kids as hers. It was good for them to go out and make their way in the world and they called and wrote when they could, but it wasn't the same as saying they were truly _her_ children.

Ah, well. She had a lot to be grateful for. She had a husband she loved and who loved her and was plenty romantic in his own way, two kids she was bursting with pride for, and dozens more children she'd helped keep on the straight and narrow.

Not too bad for a small town sheriff after all.

* * *

"'Scuse me, pardon me," Monday said, cheerily making her way through the precinct, stopping at a desk and smiling at the man stationed there. "Say, I'm looking for a Detective Chambers? She's about yea high, dark hair, great ass and about the best detective in the Tri-State area?"

Over the years Monday's hellhound scars had faded into dull pink lines of skin. They were still startling when you first saw them, but to the people that had interacted with her for any length of time, the scars were practically invisible. Before letting Monday into the precinct for the first time, Krissy had briefed everyone—said Monday had grown up in a bad part of town, been shot close to the heart once when she'd been in the middle of some gang violence as a child, stitched up by a back room doctor, and been attacked by one of those vicious dogs rappers and gang leaders thought were fashionable to keep around nowadays when she was a kid, hence the facial scarring. Everyone accepted the story at face value, and nobody said anything.

And if anyone noticed the strange silver-blue color of the scars over Monday's heart, and how they looked almost like an exploding star—well, everyone liked their new detective and didn't want to upset her or her fiancé.

"Monday, please stop harassing my partner," Krissy said, turning around in her chair.

To his credit, Detective John Kim took it rather well—although that was probably because he'd dealt with Monday before.

"What?" Monday said, grinning in what she probably thought was an innocent manner. "I was just asking."

"Uh-huh." Krissy turned back to her paperwork. "Just let me finish this report and we can go."

"But we're going to be late," Monday said, spinning Krissy around and perching on her lap. "Charlie and Gilda will get there before us and I am not letting my pseudo older-sister-slash-aunt beat me."

"It'll be good for your ego," Krissy replied, patting Monday's knee and resuming her paperwork.

"You're no fun."

Monday caught a flash on Krissy's left hand and grinned. "Did you tell the department yet?"

"I didn't have to. John here was ever so kind as to announce it to everyone."

John shrugged. "Hey, for the first month we thought your girlfriend was imaginary."

"What, this rack just too good to be true?" Monday asked, winking. John ignored her. "Or is it being a superhero social worker that you couldn't believe?"

"Finished!" Krissy announced, setting down her pen.

"Yes!" Monday jumped up and yanked her fiancé to her feet. "Let's go!"

She began dragging Krissy out the door. "Bye John! Bye Captain Beckett! Bye grumpy receptionist who doesn't like me! Bye beautiful espresso coffee maker!"

Krissy covered Monday mouth, pulled her into the elevator, and viciously pressed the _door close_ button.

* * *

"We got another postcard from Meg and Bela," Cas said. "They're in Amsterdam and, quote, Bela could show the strippers a thing or ten."

Dean rolled his eyes as he slammed the Impala's trunk. "How do they always manage to know where we are to even send a postcard?"

"I suspect some spells are involved," Cas replied. "Speaking of which, Monday called."

"Any evil witches?" Dean asked.

They got into the car and Dean started the engine.

"No, nothing like that. Charlie says she hasn't picked up any witch activity besides the harmless kind in over a year. I'd say Monday's efforts have worked quite phenomenally." Cas tucked the postcard away. "No, Monday simply informed us that they are now on the road, Krissy likes the most awful pop music, and she loves us more than she can say and thanks us for never trying to burn her with a clothing iron."

"Social case?" Dean guessed.

"Probably."

Dean sighed. Monday was doing a lot of good—he couldn't deny that—but the cases she dealt with depressed even _him_. And now Krissy was a detective in the homicide department. Between their two jobs he had no idea how they got any sleep, never mind stayed positive about humanity.

"Looks like we'll be the last to show up," Dean noted.

"I don't mind," Cas replied. He had his hand on his knee and Dean reached over, interlocking their fingers and rubbing his thumb over the silver ring on Cas's finger. The ceremony had been simple, with Garth of all people officiating, and had been several years ago now but there were still some days Dean couldn't believe his luck. He got to wake up next to Cas, spend every day with him, and call Cas his in every way. And it would continue to be that way, for the rest of their lives.

Continuing to hold Cas's hand, Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot and headed for Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

* * *

The house and area formerly known as Singer's Salvage Yard was now cleaned up and respectable, the house rebuilt from scratch thanks to the efforts of Dean, Sam, Castiel, Monday, Sarah, and Krissy, with a little help from Garth, Becky, and Charlie.

Okay, so it was mostly Dean who did the actual construction, but Sam had made all the blueprints. It was his house now, after all. Well, his and Sarah's house. They'd all loved the Bunker, but they'd agreed that it wasn't the kind of place to live if you planned on leading a normal life. Now it was a safe place and research facility for hunters everywhere, almost like the Smithsonian, a lending library, and a hotel rolled into one.

The citizens of Sioux Falls had long believed Sam and Dean to be Bobby Singer's nephews or sons (no one could agree on which) so they accepted Sam and Dean fixing up the place and Sam moving in with no question. Dean had been around a lot at the beginning, fixing up each and every car and teaching Cas and Monday how to as well, bestowing a lovely red Mustang on Monday that they'd found languishing in the back and fixed up together, but once the cars were all fixed up and sold (the money going to paying for the house), Dean and Cas had taken off to hunt again. Monday and Krissy had gone to college, and it had just been Sam and Sarah.

Until Robert John was born, that is.

Mary Jo followed soon after, and the two kids were thick as thieves. Bobby, as he was called, was a great explorer and always getting into mischief. His chief hobbies were painting, collecting interesting rocks, and studying the stars through his telescope. His sister, although younger, was fiercely protective of her brother, liked the color pink and monster trucks, and wanted to be a firefighter ballerina when she grew up.

Sam loved them both to distraction.

He'd finally gotten that law degree, just for the heck of it, but he no longer wanted that city life. Once upon a time he'd dreamed of living just outside of San Francisco or Sacramento with Jess, commuting to his fancy office and someday becoming an associate with his name on the firm title, but those dreams were long gone, wrapped in lavender and stored away to be examined, wistfully, on rainy days. He was perfectly happy in his current occupation of Sheriff, a job he'd accepted after Jody had practically bullied him into it, and he was pretty sure it was her recommendation that had gotten him the post. Mostly he dealt with drunks and the occasional robbery, although according to his kids he was practically a cowboy.

If only they knew.

Sarah had moved her art gallery to the town and made good business, but it was more a labor of love than anything. They often talked about when and how they should tell the kids. Neither of them wanted to hide the truth. Sam had seen too many times how the truth would find its way to you no matter what you did. If you were lucky, it just caused family drama. If you were unlucky, it cost lives. But they weren't yet sure how exactly they'd explain everything. Sam figured letting the kids read the _Supernatural_ series would help.

Dean wasn't too happy about that.

Speaking of his brother, Sam wished Dean would quit the hunting altogether. According to Charlie it was all salt n' burns now. Oh, sure, Women in White and ghost possession spiced things up a bit but there were no monsters, no fairies, no angels or demons or witches. Hunters were practically ghostbusters at this point. In fact, Charlie was starting to make them do things like stop human crimes and turn their efforts to more "charitable" causes. The woman had a whole army of hunters on a tight leash.

Besides there being next to nothing for Dean to do, there was the fact that, well, they weren't getting any younger. But every time Sam tried to approach the subject, Dean had brushed it off.

Maybe this time he'd agree.

Sam waited eagerly on the front porch with Sarah and the kids. Charlie and Gilda arrived first—powers of fairy magic—and the kids bounded up to meet their Aunt Charlie and 'Fairy Godmother'.

"How are my little monsters?" Charlie asked, scooping the kids up and hugging them. Gilda crouched down and performed some tricks for the kids, like making butterflies appear out of her hands.

"Damn it! So close!" Monday said, getting out of her car. She was about as attached to her precious Mustang as Dean was to the Impala and if Sam didn't know any better, he'd say she really was Dean's biological daughter. She did have dark blonde hair like Dean and blue eyes that were very similar to Cas's, although lighter and not as striking.

"No cursing," Sarah reminded her.

"Sorry," Monday apologized, handing Charlie a five dollar bill.

Krissy got out as well and ran up, giving Sam a huge hug. "Thank God, she was racing to get here before Charlie and I have to pee like a racehorse," she admitted, dashing inside the house.

Monday and Krissy had announced their engagement at Christmas, with a small ceremony planned at the end of summer. The idea of the two of them getting married in a couple of short months made Sam's head spin, and he could only imagine how Dean felt. It felt like yesterday they'd first helped Krissy with her father and found Monday (or rather she'd found them) in the diner, and now they had real jobs and were getting hitched.

"C'mon inside," Sarah called, rousing Sam from his reverie. "Dinner's almost ready."

Sam scanned the street, but didn't see the shiny black car he'd called home making its way toward the house.

"They'll be here soon," Sarah told him, laying a hand on his arm and smiling softly.

Right. This wasn't like before, when they'd been codependent and yet unable to fully trust each other, years of personality differences and issues lying between them. They'd moved past all that and become, well, normal.

Sam smiled as he went into the house. Normal. It was a beautiful word.

* * *

"Sam's gonna kill me," Dean noted as they pulled up to the house.

"He'll understand," Cas replied.

As they made their way to the front porch, Dean appraised Monday's Mustang. She'd kept it in good condition, the hood of the car practically gleaming, and he felt a rush of warmth. He was getting to see his family again—all of them.

"Pizza delivery!" Dean yelled, banging on the front door.

Sam opened it, bitchface at the ready. "Is being polite just beyond you?" He asked.

"Take me as I am, Sammy," Dean grinned, throwing his arms wide. Sam rolled his eyes but smiled and the brothers hugged, holding on tightly for a moment before letting go.

"You're just in time," Sarah said, coming up and giving both of her brothers-in-law a kiss on the cheek. "We just started dinner."

"Dad!"

Monday's yell was all the warning Dean got before she slammed into him, happily burying her face into his chest. Sometimes she called him Dad and sometimes she called him Dean, but he loved it either way. "How've you been, baby girl?" He asked, hugging her and kissing the top of her head.

"You mean since we talked two days ago?" Monday asked, pulling back with a grin. "Good. I think the guys in Krissy's department are actually starting to like me."

"You mean they've learned how to put up with you," Krissy corrected, stepping in for her hug as Monday stepped into Cas's arms.

Dean laughed and hugged her. He'd never wanted to presume, because Krissy had been raised by a good man, but he thought of her as a daughter. And now, with her wedding to Monday on the horizon, she officially would be. The girls had already decided that Krissy was going to hyphen her last name to Chambers-Winchester but be called Chambers for the sake of convenience (and her coworkers' sanity), with Monday keeping her name the same because Monday Evans Winchester was enough of a mouthful without adding a second last name to the mix.

"Uncle Dean!"

"Uncle Cas!"

Dean scooped up Mary Jo, letting his niece grab his face for a wet kiss. Cas was listening as Bobby, talking a mile a minute, was explaining something about planets and nebulas. Sarah, laughing, directed the kids back to the table.

Dean stared at her.

Well, more accurately, at her heavy, rounded stomach.

"Son of a bitch, Sarah, why didn't you guys tell me?" Dean demanded, hugging her gingerly, mindful of the growing baby inside of her.

"We wanted it to be a surprise," Sam said. "She's only just starting to show."

"Are you going to find out what the sex is?" Cas asked.

"No," Sarah said, sitting back down. "We're going to let it be a surprise."

"Good thing Monday makes a great name for a boy or a girl," Monday said.

Dean sat down and pointed his fork at her. "Cousins are at the end of the line. Grandparents get named after first, then uncles and aunts, then best friends, then cousins."

"I'll just have to get Bobby to name his first kid after me," Monday replied, grinning at the six year old.

"You're impossible," Krissy mumbled.

"Aww, I love you too babe."

Dinner passed uneventfully—if Charlie and Monday have a minor food fight, Krissy threatening to swallow her engagement ring, and Mary Jo dumping mashed potatoes on her head could be called uneventful. Dean told everyone how hunting had been (boring), Cas told everyone what Dean had gotten up to (he had _not_ tripped over the stairs, dammit, that ghost pushed him), Sarah talked about the art gallery, Krissy told them about her cases (and her captain was such a great woman, really, she just pretended not to like Monday—said she was just like her husband), Monday told them the more cheerful stories about the kids she'd been helping, and Sam had more than his fair share of hilarious small-town high jinks to relay. Charlie had stories about keeping the hunters in line, and Gilda, although stiff when she'd first met them, had warmed up by the time she and Charlie had tied the knot and teased and told stories with the best of them.

After dinner and dessert, the kids were released into the backyard to work off their energy. Monday and Charlie quickly turned it into a game of Monster Tag, dragging Krissy and Gilda into it. The latter two pretended to be reluctant but ended up being just as enthusiastic as anyone, making comical growling noises as 'monsters' and swooning dramatically when they were 'caught'. The four remaining adults drew straws, with Sarah and Cas losing and having to clean up the kitchen. Dean made his way out to the back porch, leaning on the rail to watch the kids play. A minute later Sam came out to join him, two open bottles of beer in hand.

"When are you gonna tell 'em?" Dean asked, accepting a bottle from his brother.

Sam took a sip from his own bottle, shifting his feet into what Monday called his 'majestic moose stance' and tracking the kids with thoughtful eyes. "When they're twelve or so, I suppose," he said. "I was thinking maybe we could all do it together—when it's the whole family, like this. Sarah and I will do most of the talking, give them the _Supernatural_ books, but you guys can back us up and… give an alternate point of view."

"Is that the lawyer I hear talking?" Dean teased. "'Alternate point of view'?"

Sam flashed him a bitchface. "How do you feel about the wedding?" He asked. "It's only a couple of months away now."

"Yeah, I know." Dean watched Krissy come up from behind, sliding her arms around Monday to 'capture' her. Instead of tackling her or the usual methods, however, Krissy kissed Monday softly on the mouth, making the two young women smile, their eyes locked. "Reminds me of how damn grown up they are, but it's good. Krissy's a detective now, and in homicide of all places—and Monday's going to see her fair share of hopeless cases. They'll need to lean on each other."

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"What about me?" Dean replied.

Sam sighed. "You know what I'm talking about, Dean. You can't roam around hunting forever."

No, Dean thought. They couldn't. He and Cas had a pretty legendary reputation among the hunting community—hell, the name Winchester in general was near mythical by now—but hunting just wasn't like it used to be. Or maybe it was like it used to be, back when Dean was a kid. Maybe Dean was the one who had changed.

He'd tried a normal life, twice. The first time it had worked for him, but he'd had to walk away. The second time… He still had Charlie check up on Lisa and Ben from time to time, let him know how they were doing, and the memories stung a little, but he couldn't deny—he hadn't been able to let go of the hunting life. Somewhere along the way it had become too ingrained, and he couldn't separate the normal from the paranormal—unlike Sam. But that didn't mean that hunting was all he'd ever wanted. He had the kids: Monday and Krissy. He had his brother, plus his brother's wife and kids. He had Charlie and Gilda, little sisters in every way that mattered. He had Cas.

Who was to say he couldn't have the last few pieces of it? Who was to say he couldn't make a go of it this time?

They said third time was the charm, anyway.

"Actually, Sam—there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

Sam raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything, giving Dean the chance to launch into things.

Dean fingered the bottle in his hand. "Most monsters are gone—have been since we ganked the Alphas. Angels and demons both out of the way, Heaven and Hell are locked up and in good hands, Old Gods are gone and Purgatory's sealed tight. Evil witches are practically a thing of the past thanks to Monday, and Garth's rehab program and Sonny's Home are helping with the few werewolves and rugarus and creatures like that left over. Thanks to Gilda we've got good relations with the fairies and all those folks. Charlie's got Men of Letters—hell, the entire hunting world—on a tight ship. Took Cas and me a month to find a hunt. Seems like soon there won't be as much of a need for hunters anymore."

"There will always be hunters."

"I know that. I just meant… there won't be as many needed. And the hunts will be smaller, more of a weekend thing. Salt n' burns and stuff. Hunters can live normal lives and protect people on the side. Like volunteer firefighters."

Sam huffed out a laugh, a tiny incredulous grin on his face. "Dean, are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

Dean cleared his throat. "You know the repair garage in town?"

"The one I've been telling you to work at for the past three years?"

"Yeah, that one." Dean took a swig from the bottle. "Turns out the guy in charge wants to retire, and he's looking to sell. I already got a reputation after fixing all the cars in Bobby's salvage yard, so people know me. They trust me to get the job done." He could see the look on Sam's face out of the corner of his eye and wasn't quite ready to face it, so he kept talking. "And Cas was talking about teaching self-defense classes, the way he taught Monday. He's even thinking of going to school, being a professor of theology or something. Thinks he can make a difference that way." A grin split Dean's face as he gazed at Cas. That was his angel, always trying to make things better.

"I mean, as long as you're okay with it," Dean finished up. "I wouldn't want to–"

Sam stood and grabbed him into a crushing hug. Dean felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for the days when his baby brother was smaller, shorter, but he wrapped his arms as best he could around Sam's gargantuan shoulders.

"Of course I want you nearby, Dean. You're my brother."

Sam pulled back, his grin wide enough to split his face. His eyes were shining. "The kids'll love having you nearby. And you can see Monday and Krissy more often, too."

"What's all this?" Sarah asked, stepping out onto the porch. Sam held out a hand and helped her to sit down, one hand on her swollen belly.

"I was just telling Sam about our plans," Dean answered as Cas came up to stand next to him. Dean snaked an arm around Cas's waist, tucking him into his side. Cas leaned his head on Dean's shoulder, his hand sliding into the back pocket of Dean's jeans.

"Cas was explaining those to me," Sarah said. "I think it's great."

Dean smiled, tightening his hold on Cas a little. There was a shriek from the yard and all four turned their heads just in time to see Bobby 'capture' Monday, who fell to the ground with much dramatics. The shrieking was coming from Mary Jo, who was being pushed on the swing by Krissy. Charlie was making her way towards them, grinning, Gilda at her side.

"What are you thinking?" Cas asked, his voice low and mouth brushing the outside of Dean's ear.

Dean Winchester surveyed his family—his brother and wife, living the apple-pie life. Charlie, Queen of the Nerds, his little sister, with the leader of the Fairy Realm. Monday and Krissy, his baby girls all grown up and helping save the world. His niece and nephew, young and innocent and hopefully going to stay that way, playing without a care in the world. And curled up against him right where he belonged was Cas, the goddamn love of his life.

It had taken years—much longer than either he or Sam had expected—but the world was finally a better place. Monsters, angels, demons, gods… they were all gone or next to gone, and everyone was safer.

And they finally had it.

Happiness.

**The End**


End file.
